Every Picture Tells a Story
by pitbulllady
Summary: Bloo attempts to get even with Frankie and Wilt for ruining his plans to be an Evil Genius, but will his plan backfire?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: My first Foster's fic! I got totally hooked on this show a couple of months ago, and got inspired to get off my lazy rear end and write something! "Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends" is property of Cartoon Network, and was created by Craig McCracken, so I own none of the characters herein. I also have to give some credit to Brad Bird and "The Incredibles", even though this is NOT a cross-over, for some inspiration, and "The Incredibles", of course, are property of the Walt Disney Co. and Pixar. There IS going to be some very mild Wilt/Frankie "fluffiness", so if that bothers you in the least, don't read this, but in this fic, it won't progress beyond that(though I might consider something a bit stronger if I write another one). Enjoy!

Every Picture Tells a Story

Chapter 1: Suspicious Minds

This was NOT Francis "Frankie" Foster's good day, no sirree. It has started out well enough, but long about 8:30 am, things had started to slide downhill, at a rather alarming rate. First, there was the almost-food fight at breakfast, followed by the backed-up toilet on Floor six. Nothing quite like a backed-up toilet early in the morning to start the day off right, huh? Then, as if that weren't bad enough, an entire metal filing cabinet had turned up missing from Mr. Herriman's office-a whole darned filing cabinet! Of course, his precious files were still there-scattered helter-skelter on the floor. Obviously it was not files that the low-life thief had been after, but the cabinet itself, and Herriman had sworn that before the day was out, he'd have the rotten culprit in hand and at his mercy!

It had been while listening to his latest rant that Frankie's best friend(well, best HUMAN friend, that is) Kathie had called to tell that their plans to go out club-hopping with LuAnne and Cherie had had to be put on hold, due to Cherie's mother's gall bladder surgery, which was rather unexpected. While Frankie didn't wish gall bladder trouble on anyone(OK…maybe SOME individuals, who she would prefer remain nameless at the time), it was a great disappointment for the 22-year-old red-head to have to give up on the one thing she had to look forward to during the course of the next 24 hours, as a distraction from everything that seemed to be going absolutely wrong. They'd been planning this Girls' Night Out for three weeks, setting a date and time when everyone seemed to have everything in order, for once, and everyone's schedules permitted, which was a rare thing. Then, Cherie's mom just HAD to have gall bladder surgery.

_Figures_…

"And now THIS!", the red-head said out loud, to no one in particular. "THIS", as it turned out, was a bus that wouldn't start. Wouldn't even _try_ to start, uh-uh.

Frankie, you see, worked for her grandmother, or more specifically, for her grandmother's establishment, which happened to be a rather unique(to put it mildly)half-way home/adoption agency for Imaginary Friends, living, flesh-and-blood beings who had become real the moment a creative child(or in some rare instances, adult)imagined them. It just happened that this establishment depended on, for transportation, a rather old and flamboyantly-decorated former church bus, and that this old bus, like most older vehicles, tended to be rather fickle. Alright… it was a royal pain, and often seemed to choose the worst possible times to make its royal pain status known. Like now, when Frankie really needed to make a trip to the supermarket. Her efforts at starting the thing had been met with nothing more than a sterile, "_Click-click_, _Click-click_" of a solonoid; nothing so much as a whine from the engine, which meant one of two things: dead battery, or dead alternator. Frankie was hoping for the lesser of two evils, a dead battery, since she DID have a set of jumper cables in a storage compartment at the rear of the bus, and COULD use her grandmother's Pontiac to jump-start the bus, at least long enough to go by the auto parts shop and get a new battery…yet one MORE expense.

Gritting her teeth, the young woman pulled the hood catch, unfastened her seat belt, and got out of the bus, stomping to the front to lift the hood, where she spent a good five minutes checking the battery connections just to be sure they weren't loose, and staring at the battery as if to start the thing by telekenesis. Failing to accomplish much with that tactic, she groaned out load, muttering about how things could not POSSIBLY get any worse, and how it was only 12 in the afternoon, and stomped around to the rear of the vehicle to get the jumper cables from the storage/luggage compartment.

"Watch it be the alternator," she growled, knowing that a new alternator would cost much more than a battery, and would not respond to a jump-start, which meant she'd have to beg her grandmother for the use of the Pontiac, something the old lady was rather reluctant to agree to, most of the time. "It had BETTER not be the alternator, 'cuz at least if it's the battery, these babies will do the trick. All I'll need is these jumper ca…WHAT!"

"These babies", i.e., the jumper cables, weren't there.

"Now I KNOW I left 'em RIGHT HERE!", an exasperated Frankie exclaimed, trying to recall any other time she'd used the jumper cables recently, or anyone else who had used them, but drawing a blank on both accounts. She sighed and let her weight fall against the side of the bus, hand to her forehead, hoping for some vision of where she'd last seen the jumper cables if not in this compartment, but remained still quite certain that it was right here, in the storage compartment.

Suddenly, a pattern began to emerge: first the rabbit's filing cabinet, now her jumper cables. Only WHO would have any use for both items? Frankie knew it wasn't nice to point fingers without hard evidence, you know, that "innocent until proven guilty" deal, but in spite of her best efforts at giving a certain Someone a benefit of a doubt, her mind was overwhelmed with color, and that color happened to be _blue._

0000000000000000000000

As Frankie entered the foyer of the huge, ornately Victorian mansion that served both as HER home and place of employment, as well as home to several Imaginary Friends of an indescribable array of sizes, shapes and personalities, most awaiting adoption, she was on the lookout for ONE Imaginary Friend in particular, She had a hunch-call it "Women's Intuition", or whatever, that HE would know something about her vanished jumper cables, and probably the missing filing cabinet from Mr. Herriman's office as well. And when she got her hands on him…

Before the young woman could reach the foot of the staircase that led to the sleeping quarters of most of the house's residents, though, her train of thought was interrupted by a voice, entering from her left.

"OK…now I KNOW I put that pail back in the utility closet…and pails just DO NOT get up and walk away…"

Turning towards the voice, Frankie found herself face to, uhm…legs, yes, legs. A very red, very thin, very LONG pair of legs, clad in a pair of white tube socks with red-and-blue trim at the top, and a pair of absolutely enormous black-and-white high-top sneakers. It was necessary for her, or pretty much anyone else, to tilt her head back to actually be able to see the owner of that pair of legs, socks, and sneakers, one of the few residents of the house whom Frankie actually thought of as being quite sensible, the Imaginary Friend known as Wilt.

The tall, lanky red being seemed to be rather out-of-sorts, which was actually quite unusual for Wilt. He was someone you could almost always count on to have a big smile on his face, and his typically cheery attitude was as infectious as the common cold. This was in spite of the fact that at sometimes in his past, before he'd ended up at Foster's, Life had dealt Wilt a pretty harsh deck of cards. His left arm was nothing but a stump, and of his two eyes, situated on stalks protruding from the top of his head, only one was even a real eye, the right one. The left, like his left arm, had been lost in some horrible incident of which Wilt refused to talk, and a googly fake eye, much smaller than the real one, had been put in place to at least try to give his appearance some semblance of balance. Black scars marred both cheeks, the remnants of where heavy stitches had once been placed, to close deep wounds. Today, though, that normally-happy demeanor that could add a breath of sunlight to a wake looked puzzled, and a bit aggravated. Wilt's one good remaining hand rubbed at the back of his head, and he was looking this way and that, obviously searching for something.

Frankie had just enough to time to think, "Join the club…", when the tall Friend, so intent on his own search that he'd totally failed to notice Frankie, nearly walked right into her.

"Hey, WHOA, whoa…Wilt! Don't step on me, I've had a bad enough day without getting squashed!" Frankie called out as she actually had to take a step or two backwards.

Her voice snapped Wilt out of his search mode, causing him to jump a bit himself. "Frankie! I am SOOOO SORRY…I didn't even see you! I am really, REALLY sorry; are you OK? Bad day? Not because of ME, is it? If it is, I am really, really soooo sorry!"

"Nope, not because of you, I promise. Everything ELSE seems to be messed up, but it's got nothing to do with you, really." Frankie assured the tall red Friend. Wilt's strangest habit was that he was a chronic apologizer. He apologized even for things he didn't do, like now, for instance.

Frankie added, "Say, you seem to be looking for something. That puts us both in the same boat, since I'm looking for something, too. TWO somethings, as a matter of fact."

"Yeah, you know that plastic pail I always use to mix cleaner in when I wash down the kitchen counters and stuff? I ALWAYS put it back in the utility cabinet next to the pantry, but today, when I went to clean the counters like I always do on Fridays, I couldn't find it. You haven't seen it, have you?"

Frankie knew that there was no point in questioning as to whether or not Wilt had actually put said plastic pail back in the utility cabinet the last time he'd used it. Chronic apologizer or not, Wilt was very reliable, and if he said he'd done something, he'd done it.

"Well, I guess your pail and Mr. Herriman's filing cabinet and MY jumper cables have all fallen victim to the same set of sticky fingers. Question is, WHO would bother to take stuff like that?"

In the seconds that followed Frankie's inquiry, one of those moments occurred, which seemed to happen rather frequently these days, in which it appeared that she and Wilt shared the same brain, for they arrived at the same conclusion, simultaneously, and they each answered the question, simultaneously.

"Bloo", was the answer to the question, as to whom might have taken a plastic pail, a metal filing cabinet, and a set of jumper cables…plus who-knows-what that just hadn't been reported missing yet. They each nodded in agreement with the other's assessment.

Frankie groaned in exasperation, gesturing in mid-air as if to ask "WHY", though she knew it was almost pointless to do so. Since coming to live at Foster's, the Imaginary Friend in question, the only one besides Mr. Herriman who was not up for adoption, had often proved his little blue self to be a major pain-in-the-you-know-what, and Frankie had had a suspicion all along that he was the culprit behind this latest string of object "relocations", a suspicion echoed by her tall red companion.

"You know", Wilt interjected, "ever since Mac brought over his DVD of that movie-what's it called, you know, the one about the Super hero dude and his Super hero family, Bloo's been actin' sorta strange…'scuse me, strangER. He told Ed and Coco and me he was gonna be a Super Evil Genius, and invent all this technology to sell, and make himself rich so he could take over the world!"

Frankie raised an eyebrow. "What, you mean 'The Incredibles' ? If I catch him with my jumper cables, I'M gonna show him something evil, alright! Have you seen him, by the way?"

"Yeah, I think he's upstairs in our room. Saw him headin' that way not too long ago with a pair of oven mitts or somethin'…he WAS sayin' somethin' about 'his latest technological weapons breakthrough', so unless I miss my guess, he's still there."

"Thanks, Wilt. I knew I could count on you to be the one helpful person on a day like today." Frankie reached up and gave Wilt's long arm a gentle pat, bringing back that smile to his face to make the aggravation of the morning seem a bit less…well, less aggravating. "I guess I better head upstairs and confront our little "Evil Genius", huh? I'll let you know if I find your cleaning pail, and I have a feeling I WILL." With that, Francis Foster turned and started up the long flight of stairs to the living quarters, and to the room shared by the four Imaginary Friends, Wilt, Coco, Eduardo, and of course, the prime suspect, Bloo.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Caution! Evil Genius at Work…or Something Like It

As she approached the door to the suspect's room, Frankie noticed a hand-written sign hanging from the doorknob. It read, "Caution! Super Evil Genius Testing Facilty-Enter At Your On(sic)Risk!" "Genius…yeah, RIGHT!" muttered Frankie to herself as she turned the doorknob, surprised that it wasn't locked.

She wasn't the only one who was surprised. Standing in front of the closet with his back to her, the Prime Suspect nearly jumped out of his blue hide, or whatever it was he was covered in. It was almost hard to imagine that a creature who appeared to be little more than a two-foot-tall blue blob could be so much trouble, but the Imaginary Friend known as "Blooregard Q. Kazoo", or "Bloo" for short, seemed to attract trouble like a trailer park attracts tornadoes. After a startled (and to Frankie's experienced eyes, a _guilty_)jump, the blue being, who for some reason was wearing a black t-shirt with a big, hand-painted white "**B**" on the front, and a black vinyl mask affixed around his eyes, folded his short little arms in front of him and scowled at Frankie in what he hoped was a very intimidating manner.

"Don't you non-geniuses know how to KNOCK? I mean, this is a highly-sensitive, dangerous weapons-testing facility here, or can you not READ, either?"

"I don't have time for your games, Bloo! There's some things missing around the house, and for some odd reason I have a suspicion that YOU might know something about it!" Frankie stated accusingly, pointing her finger at the little blue blob. "Besides", she added, "I WORK here; I don't HAVE to knock!"

At least four or five different expression of disbelief crossed Bloo's face all at once. He gasped, staring at Frankie as if she'd suddenly grown an extra head.

"Soooo, you think you can just waltz in here like some Superhero on a mission and put a stop to MY geni…oh, wait…" he said, narrowing his eyes, "_somebody_ ratted me OUT, didn't they? Who WAS it?" His normally high-pitched voice rose by several octaves to a rather unpleasant screech. "It was one of my HENCHMEN, wasn't it? Dirty, rotten, no-goods…I SWEAR, you just CANNOT get good Evil Genius help these days! Which one was it…come on, you might as well tell me now, and save your family a lot of PAIN later!"

"Cut the CRAP, Bloo! Mr. Herriman is missing one of his precious filing cabinets, Wilt is missing a cleaning pail, and the bus has a dead battery and _I_ am missing my JUMPER CABLES! Now, do you have anything to do with this, or NOT? And don't think I won't bother searching every inch of this room, 'cuz you KNOW I will!" shouted Frankie, rapidly reaching the limits of patience with this so-called "Evil Genius". Before her suspect could answer, though, Frankie suddenly noticed something.

"And is that MY black t-shirt you're wearing? And do my eyes tell me correctly, that you have PAINTED on it?"

"T-shirt? T-SHIRT? I will HAVE you to know THIS is a Super Evil Genius COSTUME, designed from the latest high-tech, indestructible material! T-shirt, phhhffffttt…don't make me laugh!"

"It IS my t-shirt, isn't it?" Frankie questioned calmly, trying not to just reach out and rip it right off the current wearer, big white "B" on the front, or no big white "B" on the front.

"Welllll…I found the raw materials for it on the floor of the laundry room, so it coulda been ANYBODY'S…I don't see YOUR name on it anywhere, Miss Superhero Supporter!"

It took a supreme effort of willpower on Frankie's part not to strangle the object of her interrogation. Somehow, though, in spite of everything that the morning had thrown her way, she managed to maintain some semblance of composure, and to press on with her investigation.

"And, are those MY oven mitts you have duct-taped on your hands? I didn't even realize they were missing…YET!"

"Oven mitts? My, my, my…you silly, poor, ignorant non-genius, you!" Bloo responded, shaking his head. "THIS happens to be a little something I call 'Zero-Point Energy', pretty cool, huh?" He held up his gloved hands, grinning proudly.

"And _I _happen to call them MY OVEN MITTS, now give 'em BACK!" Frankie grabbed ahold of the mitts, snatching them off Bloo's hands, heedless of the duct tape.

"OW! You don't haveta get nasty about it, sheesh!" Bloo rubbed his wrists where he'd duct-taped the "Zero-Point Energy" gloves to them. He started slowly backing towards the closet, glaring accusingly at Frankie from the corner of his eye.

"Now," Frankie continued, "about the missing things. I intend to search this room inch by inch, so if there's anything you feel you need to tell me, you might as well go ahead and tell me now." Frankie folded her arms in front of her, and waited.

"Go ahead. Search ALLLL you want… I got nothin' to hide." Bloo shrugged. All the while he was saying it, though, Frankie couldn't help but notice him gradually inching towards the closet door, until he had come to stand directly in front of it, his back pressed up against it, his expression beginning to show signs of anxiety.

"Blooooo, is there something in that closet I should know about, hmmm?"

Behind his mask, Bloo's eyes grew wide as saucers. His response was considerably less self-assured than previous ones had been. "Uhhhh…Noooo, nothing in the closet, except...except, uhm, regular old everyday, you know, closet stuff. You know, blankets, Wilt's extra shoes, fake grass for Coco's nest, stuff like what's in everybody's closet…absolutely NO Evil Genius stuff in there, uh-uh!" His voice grew more trembly by the second, the veneer of fearless Evil Genius beginning to wear really thin at this point.

Frankie had had just about enough of this game, and wanting to end it quickly, reached over and around Bloo's masked head, took ahold of the doorknob, and pulled, having to literally pull Bloo right along with the door.

There, just inside the door, and pretty much filling the space of the closet, was an odd-looking assemblage of _stuff_, which had a vague resemblance to a robot, with the body comprised, sure enough, of an upright metal filing cabinet, a "head" constructed from an upturned plastic pail, with a face made up of glued-on can lids and a few scraps of aluminum foil. The "arms" of this creation appeared to have been made of some sort of corrugated flexible tubing, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be air vent tubing from the back of a clothes dryer. And, to one of the cabinet drawer handles, was attached one end of a pair of orange jumper cables. The other end lay on the floor, apparently having no power source to be attached to.

Even as put-out as she was about this whole thing, Frankie couldn't help but admire the effort that must have gone into this…this, MESS.

"Well, Bloo, what have you got to say about THIS?" she asked, gesturing to the heap of formerly-missing objects.

Bloo laughed nervously, rubbing his hands together, and tried to make what he hoped was a look of concern come up on his face. "Uh, geesh, Frankie, you REALLY need to have a talk with Eduardo about him hording stuff like this…"

"I don't think so, Bloo. I AM planning to have a nice, long talk with MAC, though, about you stealing things to act out some silly, I dunno…Evil Genius Whatever!"

"It's NOT stealing! It's BOR-ROW-ING! I was plannin' on givin' it all back, once I'd built my prototype Battle 'Droid, and got all the kinks worked out!" whined Bloo.

"WhatEVER YOU wanna call it, Bloo, it's still taking things that don't belong to you without asking, and that's WRONG! Now, you are going to help ME get this thing taken apart, and get these things you've taken back to where you got 'em, especially Mr. Herriman's filing cabinet, before he gets back to his office. You KNOW he's not going to be happy with this!"

Dissatisfied with the way things were going down, Bloo decided to crank the whine up several notches, and smoothly executed the transition from Super Evil Genius to Super Pitiful Imaginary Friend. "_PLLLLEEAAASE,_ Frankie, don't make me take my BABY apart! This is my life's work, my one single ambition, and you're going to just go and…RUIN it for me? How COULD you?"

Frankie had been expecting this sort of reaction, and was unmoved. "Well, are you gonna help dismantle this, or am I gonna have to wait until Mr. Herriman comes back in, and get HIM to help, so he can see who had HIS filing cabinet, hmmm?"

Bloo scowled, took a deep breath, and stepped forward. "FINE. I'll help destroy my one and only creation! But, next time you find a tanker truck hurtling towards YOU outa the sky, don't expect any help from ME, sister!"

Frankie sighed, "I'll keep that in mind, next time a tanker truck comes hurtling outa the sky at me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Foiled Again! **

Author's Note: First, thanks to those of you who have reviewed, and some clarification. Neither Bloo NOR myself said he was planning on "destroying the world", so I don't have a clue where THAT came from. He DID say he wanted to "take over the world and get rich". Those of you who watch the show cannot deny, that no matter how cute and funny Bloo is, that he can be extremely selfish, and loves nothing more than to be the center of attention. Like the character in the movie(and those of you who have seen "The Incredibles" will know of whom I speak), Bloo feels like one way to be guaranteed the admiration of millions is to be rich and powerful, so he just decides that he's going to go about doing this the same way as the character in the movie, but without that character's mistakes(thank you, Mskinnukufan, for noticing that Bloo had sense enough to lose the cape, LOL). Bloo wants attention, Bloo lives for attention, and as seen in the episode "Bloo Done It", cannot stand for someone else to take attention away from HIM. He's not "evil" as such, but very, very self-centered most of the time, and frequently displays a complete lack of regard for the feelings of others(case in point, "Eddie Monster), though occasionally his conscience DOES get ahold of him. Bloo will also go to great lengths to get even with someone or prove his point, as seen in "Everyone Knows It's Bendy", where he practically destroys the house in order to catch Bendy stealing a cookie! He just usually ends up having to learn things the hard way, unfortunately.

Once again, I own none of the characters on "Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends"; they belong to Cartoon Network. Right now, I own several snakes, tarantulas, Catahoula Leopard Dogs, and a car with a busted starter switch, so that's all anyone who sues me will collect on.

Three O'clock, Friday afternoon, and, as was the case every day at this time, the Foster's mansion received a visitor. Well, actually, he was more like family than mere company. As was his daily routine, per agreement with Madame Foster, the elderly owner of the establishment, an eight-year-old boy with dark-brown, somewhat tousled hair walked briskly up the walkway to the large oaken front doors, as if he had an important appointment, which in fact, he did. The boy's name was Mac, and he happened to have created the small being named Blooregard Q. Kazoo, or "Bloo", for short, when he was only three years old. His mother had recently decided, however, that Mac was too old for an Imaginary Friend (though it probably had had more to do with her simply having enough of Bloo's shenanigans), and Mac was forced to find another home for his little creation. That place had turned out to be within his very hometown, not far from the school he attended, and as per the agreement with the home's owner, all Mac had to do was visit Bloo each day at three O'clock in the afternoon, and Bloo would not be put up for adoption.

Mac never knew what to expect when he arrived each day to visit his Imaginary Friend. This was due in no small part to Bloo's mercurial nature, and the fact that he almost ALWAYS had some sort of scheme going on. Like a good parent, Mac tried his best to steer his "child" in the right direction, but like many a real parent, he often found his efforts to have been in vain, since personality-wise, he and Bloo were almost polar opposites.

Today would prove no exception to the "don't know what to expect" rule, as the eight-year-old was met not by one of the Imaginary Friends at the door, but by one of only two other human faces regularly seen here, Frances Foster, and she didn't look exactly pleased.

"Hi, Frankie, what's up?" the boy greeted the young woman.

"'Afternoon, Mac…look, we gotta talk" the red-head stated matter-of-factly.

Mac's cheerful mood abated somewhat; young as he was, he knew that when any adult started out a conversation with those particular words, this was not a good thing. And furthermore, he knew EXACTLY what it had to involve, or rather, _WHO _it had to involve.

"What's he done NOW?" Mac questioned with a sigh, knowing he shouldn't be surprised that his visit would start off this way. It wasn't like this was the first time this had happened, after all.

"Well, you know that DVD you brought over earlier this week, _The Incredibles _or whatever? Bloo apparently got the idea from that to become some sort of Super Evil Genius inventor, or at least I think that's what he's calling himself now. Big problem is, he was taking things that didn't belong to him to make this..this…robot-looking thing in the closet, of all places! He took one of Mr. Herriman's filing cabinets from his office-I have NO idea how he got it up to his room-plus MY jumper cables, and a bunch of other stuff. I know it probably won't do any more good than all the other talks you've had with him, but seriously, Mac, stealing is an offense that CAN get him kicked outa here, so if you don't mind…"

"Sure, Frankie, but like you said, it probably won't do any good. It's like everything I say goes in one ear and out the other!" replied Mac, wincing inwardly at his own words, due to the number of times his own mother had said the same thing about _him._ This must be that "Parent's Curse" he'd heard about, the one where the parent says to the kid, "I hope when you're grown you have a kid who's JUST as bad as YOU are!" Problem was, Mac was experiencing this reality at the age of EIGHT; something just didn't seem fair here.

Entering Bloo's room, Mac was to find him "interrogating" two of his, uhm, "Evil Genius Henchmen", actually two of his three roommates, an Imaginary Friend known as "Eduardo", a hulking, bull-like beast with a fearsome appearance, shaggy purple fur, massive horns and fangs, and a skull belt buckle, who had the demeanor of a four-year-old. Fierce-looking or not, Eduardo had been a massive failure as a protector to his creator, since the immense beast was timid and shy to a fault. He was also afraid of many, many things, not the least of which was loud noises or shouting, and he was literally trembling now under Bloo's "interrogation". The other Imaginary Friend, an even more bizarre-looking concoction of an exotic bird, a palm tree, and a crashed airplane, who went by the name of "Coco", since this was the only thing she could say, and who resembled something that should be worn by someone at a Jimmy Buffett concert, stared blankly. It was hard to tell if Coco was simply ignoring Bloo, or just didn't comprehend what he was going on about.

"Oh, good, you're here! You can help me find out which one of my henchmen sold me out to the Enemy!" shouted Bloo to Mac as his creator walked in.

"They are NOT your "henchmen", Bloo, and Frankie is not the "Enemy", either. She wanted me to talk to you, and tell you to stop all this nonsense about being an Evil Genius. Sheesh, I can't even let you watch one of my DVD's without you getting all carried away!"

"Si, Senior Mac, I not even know what a henchman is!" the still-trembling Eduardo offered in his "Spanglish" accent.

"CO co-co!"

"Fine! Fake ignorance if you will, but I SHALL find out who the guilty party is, and when I DO…I'll…I'll…think of something REALLY nasty, like, uh, I dunno, lockin' 'em in the room with Duchess or something!"

"Ooooh, that is BAD! I would not want to be whoever it is Azul is mad with if he does THAT!" Eduardo cringed even more.

Coco's expression had begun to get a bit annoyed by this point. "Co co CO, co?" she asked of her inquisitor.

Bloo responded irritably, "Yes, you can go now! But be warned, this is far from over! I'll be keeping my eyes on BOTH of you!"

"Give it a rest, Bloo! They aren't your 'henchmen', and YOU aren't some 'Evil Genius' You're not even a REGULAR genius!" admonished Mac, shaking his head as the other two Friends slipped out of the room, casting backwards glances at their small blue roommate as they exited.

"Oh, and what would YOOOUU know about being a genius, HUH?"

"Well, I make good grades…wait, is THAT Frankie's t-shirt you're wearing? You're wearing a GIRL'S t-shirt, and questioning MY intelligence?"

"Noooo, it's MY Evil Genius costume, but you wouldn't know…HEY, stop tryin' to change the subject!"

"It IS Frankie's t-shirt, isn't it? Only you painted that big white "B" on the front! Why don't you go ahead and just paint a big "S" right after it, since you're takin' it this far?"

"Because then I would be going around with a big…oh, _I _get it; you're tryin' to be a comedian, now, huh? Well, I'm not laughin', Mr. Not-a-Genius!"

Before the exasperated Mac could respond, they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Turning towards the entrance to the room, Mac called out for the person on the other side to come in, hoping he would at least have someone to back him up in this little argument. The door swung open, and in walked Bloo's third roommate, Wilt, having to duck his head as he crossed the room's threshold.

"Oh, hi, Mac! How's it goin'?" Wilt inquired in his usual friendly manner, then quickly turned his attention to Mac's companion without even waiting for a reply from Mac.

"You know, Bloo, you coulda just asked me to borrow that pail when I got through with it. I would have even rinsed it out for you so our closet wouldn't smell like Mr. Clean, instead of you sneakin' and just TAKIN' it like that! I'm sorry, but that is NOT OK!"

Bloo started to respond in his own defense. "I did not just 'sneak and take' your precious bucket, I…wait a minute! Hold the presses…it was YOU, wasn't it?" His voice rose into that fingernails-on-a-blackboard screech once again. "YOU were the dirty, no-good traitor of a henchman who ratted me out, weren't you?"

Still speaking in his usual soft, calm tone, Wilt responded with a slight shrug, "Sorry, but I DID have to wash down the kitchen, and I needed that pail to do it. When I found it was missing, I had to let Frankie know, and when I mentioned that I'd seen you comin' up here with some oven mitts, we both sorta put two and two together and…"

"I KNEW IT! I KNEW I never shoulda trusted some 'goody-two-socks' like YOU in the first place! Some Evil Genius henchman YOU are! You were in it with HER all along! I hope you know that I have devised the most insidious punishment for traitors like you!"

With the slightest shake of his head, and the slightest tilt of what passed as a right eyebrow, Wilt managed to convey his utmost contempt for this latest of Bloo's schemes, and then, in characteristic Wilt style, he started out his response by apologizing for it.

"I'm sorry, Bloo, but I don't remember signin' up to be an 'Evil Genius henchman' in the first place! I'm just tellin' you to ASK me before you take something, OK?"

Bloo just stood and glowered at him, arms folded over the big white "B: on his, er, rather, Frankie's, black t-shirt. His brain raced furiously to come up with something really witty and clever, but seemed to have hit a roadblock in the Path of Witty Comebacks. It was Mac who finally broke the silence.

"Well, THIS has been a wasted afternoon. If you insist on this Evil Genius get-up, Bloo, I might as well go on home. I think I would rather put up with an Evil Dumb Bully of a brother than an Evil Genius Imaginary Friend! See you later, hopefully when you've come to your senses!" With that, Mac turned and headed for the door, with Wilt towering close behind. Bloo could hear their conversation as they walked down the hallway, toward the stairs that led to the downstairs foyer.

"You know, Wilt, sometimes I keep hoping that your sensibility will rub off on him, with you being his roommate and all, but I just don't know…"

"I know what you mean, Mac, but sometimes even I don't know what to think…"

As their voices faded away with distance, Bloo stood, arms folded defiantly, lips pursed tightly together. At last, he spoke out, to no one in particular. "FINE! BE that way, then! When I get rich off my inventions, see if I share any of that untold wealth with ANY of you, especially with a TRAITOR! This isn't over yet, Mr. I'm-So-Perfect, Is-That-OK! You and Miss-I'm-the-Boss-of-the-World are gonna RUE the day you crossed ME, for I am BLOO, your nemesis and…and…note to self, get dictionary and look up what 'nemesis' means!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Curse of the Psycho Ax-Murderer Who Would Not Die!

Author's Note: Once again, thanks to my reviewers! This is the chapter which any of you out there who are leaning a bit towards "Wilt/Frankie" might get some satisfaction, even if it is rather slight. It is actually based on a boyfriend I had in college, a long, long time ago, who just could not help giving out spoilers to movies, since it seemed that he's seen them all, and also upon an old Eddie Murphy stand-up comedy routine from back in his "Saturday Night Live" days, so I have to give him at least some credit! 

It was difficult NOT to know what time it was at Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, downright impossible, as a matter of fact. Old Madame Foster, the home's founder, owner, and grandmother to Ms. Frances "Frankie" Foster, had a thing, it seemed, for clocks. There was, in fact, an entire room on the first floor devoted entirely to clocks, hundreds of them, of nearly every make and description that was possible to fit inside a residence.

It was therefore no surprise to Frankie when eleven O'clock, PM, arrived. What WAS surprising was that she was still there, at the home, period. She and her friends had made plans, earlier that week, to go out to some clubs, but those plans had been abruptly put on hold by Kathie's mom needing emergency gall bladder surgery. Seated at the computer in her room, Frankie sighed, staring at the screen in front of her. She really shouldn't be so down on Kathie's mom; after all, it wasn't like the poor woman developed gall stones on purpose. Still, the thought of having to stay home, on a Friday night, knowing that most of the civilized world was out there having fun, having a real social life, while SHE sat home alone in her room was enough to make any 22-year-old irritated. Even the internet, with the usual chat rooms Frankie liked to frequent, seemed a deserted wasteland tonight. THAT was most likely because all those people were out at clubs and restaurants, or concerts, or whatever other things the rest of the known world did on Friday nights, mused Frankie, somewhat bitterly. Apparently she was the only one stuck at home.

Finally, she decided that the only logical thing to do was to stop fretting over her fate, and, having nothing else to do, go on to bed. She sighed, got up from her chair in front of her computer, and went about the nightly ritual of preparing for bed, changing into a oversized long t-shirt that qualified as a nightgown, and taking down her red hair, which she normally wore pulled up in a ponytail during the day. Lying on her back in bed, Frankie mused on the day she'd just gotten through, and how everything had seemed to go wrong, culminating with her having to confront Bloo over his ridiculous "Evil Genius" get-up, his latest attention-grabbing ploy. She had no idea how a smart, sensitive kid like Mac could have created a Friend like Bloo, but then, a lot of Imaginary Friends didn't turn out as their creators had hoped, which was why many ended up here. She had to admire Mac for sticking by his creation, though, even when he himself was at his wits' end with the little blue trouble maker. Trying to put the whole mess behind her and trying NOT to think about the fact that it was now just eleven-fifteen, and she was at home, Frankie closed her eyes, hoping for sleep.

Sleep was to prove elusive, however. Turning to stare at her bedside alarm clock after what had seemed like an eternity, Frankie was annoyed to see that it was still only eleven-thirty. Well, THIS wasn't getting anywhere! With an exasperated sigh, she threw back the covers, got out of bed, and headed for the kitchen. That's what she needed, a good, steaming cup of hot chocolate; if a problem couldn't be fixed with chocolate, it didn't need fixing.

Moments later, on her way back to her room with the huge mug in hand, Frankie happened to pass by the second-floor TV room, and noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Through the small opening, the tell-tale colorful flicker of ever-changing light could be seen; someone had left the tv set on. Knowing that Mr. Herriman had strict rules about the set being left on overnight, Frankie decided to take the task of switching it off upon herself, rather than have to listen to one of his endless tirades the next morning over breakfast. As she quietly padded into the room towards the tv, though, it became obvious that the tv had not been left on by accident. Someone was watching it; the big sofa in front of the set was occupied, though Frankie was a bit surprised to see who it was. Even though the occupant of the sofa had folded his long legs up against himself, and scrunched down against one arm of the sofa to try and make himself as inconspicuous as possible, his two eyes protruding above the back of the sofa on stalks, only one of which was a real eye, gave him away. Peering over the back of the sofa, Frankie not only was surprised to see that Wilt was up this late watching tv, but that he apparently was alone, sans his usual entourage of Coco, Eduardo, and, most of the time, Bloo.

"Need some company?" Frankie queried, but immediately realized that perhaps she should have made her presence known some other way, before speaking. In a flash, Wilt sprang up off the sofa, sending the large bowl of popcorn he'd had balanced on his lap to the floor, popcorn kernels scattering across the rug, and spun around to face the source of the voice with almost-shocking speed. Frankie herself wasn't quite prepared for such a reaction, and nearly spilled hot chocolate on herself as she, too, jumped a bit, startled.

For a few seconds, the two residents on the house, one human, one not, stared at each other, looks of surprise giving way to "oh, sheesh, am **_I _**being silly or what" looks. Wilt was the first to break the silence, after having realized that his popcorn was now decorating the floor.

"Frankie! I am SOOO sorry, I'll clean this up right away! You didn't spill any of your…"

Frankie cut him off, "No, no…Wilt, it's my fault; I shouldn't have startled you like that! No, I didn't spill anything…here, let me help you with that!" With that, she walked over quickly to where Wilt was already down on the floor, picking up popcorn, and placed her mug on the end table next to sofa before dropping down next to him to help, despite his insistence that it was HIS fault and she need not trouble herself with the mess he'd made. "So," Frankie began as the last kernel was finally scooped back into the large plastic bowl, to be disposed of, "whatcha doin' up at this hour, all by your lonesome, hmm?"

Still apparently worried that he'd been caught doing something he wasn't allowed to be doing, Wilt, who had now returned to his seat on the sofa, looked a bit guilty as he tried to explain. "Sorry, I was just…I mean I was only…I didn't know how late it was, sorry…", prompting Frankie to interrupt him again. "Chill OUT, will ya! You know I'm not going to go running to Mr. Herriman and tattle that you're up watching tv!" she chided gently, shaking her head at him. The guy was always so paranoid that he'd break some rule, or make someone angry, it was almost sad. One of the things that Frankie had observed about Wilt over the years she'd known him was that in spite of his good-spirited, happy outlook, he seemed to have some very deep-rooted fear of being abandoned or thrown out. This was no surprise, considering that his creator's family had, in fact, abandoned him. How long he was on his own, or whether or not he received his horrendous injuries before or after that fact, he'd refused to divulge.

"So", Frankie continued, "like I said before, need some company?" She took a seat on the sofa, on the opposite end from the one Wilt was occupying.

He seemed to relax, finally giving her that smile that was his stock in trade. "Well, actually, I'd love to have some company. I mean, I can't exactly run you off after you helped me clean up the mess I'd made, now can I? Oh, and don't forget this," he added, reaching over himself with his one good hand, to pick up the mug of now-not-so-hot chocolate from the end table beside him, handing it to Frankie, "you might wanna go ahead and drink it before it gets too cold".

"Oh, thanks! OK, now what exactly are we watching?'

"OK, this is this REALLY scary movie, '_The Return of the Psycho Ax Murderer Who Wouldn't Die, Part Six'. _AND, if you're wonderin'", Wilt continued, apparently anticipating Frankie's next question, "the reason I'm watchin' it alone is because I really didn't want Ed watching it; you know how HE is-panic attacks, keepin' the whole house up for the next week with nightmares-so I waited until everyone else in the room was asleep, then I sorta snuck down here."

Frankie smirked, raising her eyebrow at him. "_ED_ having nightmares and panic attacks, huh? _THIS_ coming from the very same guy who boarded up every door and window in the house, from the INSIDE, locking ME outside in a thunderstorm, after watching a cheesy old movie about a ghost, and THEN nearly wrecking the place bcause you guys were afraid of _BLOO?"_

Without missing a beat, Wilt had a reply ready in his defense. "Well, I only did that to keep Ed from bein' scared of the, you know, the wind and lightnin' and stuff outside. Anyways, how was _I _supposed to know Bloo turns white when he's sick; I mean, WHO knew?"

_Good one_, thought Frankie. "Yeah, SURE you did!"

Wilt had turned his attention back to the tv, leaning forward from his seat. "This move is REALLY scary, like I said-lots of blood and stuff! You see that dude right there? The one with the hat? Now, he's this homicide detective, see, investigatin' all these awful murders, and, OK…watch…this is the good part! No, wait, this ISN'T the good part; this is just where the detective thinks he's found another victim, but it's just this ole' wino dude…"

Frankie held up her hand, interrupting him. "Wait…you've already SEEN this movie? Before?"

"Uh, yeah; I saw it a coupla months ago. Mac brought it over on DVD; I think he said it was his brother's or somethin'. "

"Well, don't you think it would sorta spoil it for ME if you tell me everything that's gonna happen, since I haven't seen it yet?"

Wilt seemed to ponder this for a few seconds. "Oh, well, yeah, I guess it would, wouldn't it? Sorry, I'll try not to give away anything." That said, they both leaned back against the comfortable old sofa. Not more than two minutes went by, however, before Wilt leaned forward again, as the background music onscreen began to intensify, signaling that _something _was about to happen.

"Now, see that dumpster? All this time, the Psycho Ax Murderer Dude's been hidin' out in that sucker, and now that the detective is gone, he's about to pop out and…"

"WILT! I thought you just said you weren't going to give away what was going to happen! I mean, there's not much point in ME watching this if you're going to just TELL me everything that's gonna happen, right?"

"Oh, sorry! You're right; I did-my bad! Won't happen again, I swear!"

Another space of oh, fifteen seconds crept by, during which, onscreen, the old wino fell victim to the Psycho Ax Murderer from the dumpster, his screams fading out as the movie cut to another scene. A sharp-looking young man was getting out of a car, lugging all sorts of electronic equipment. "Now, THIS dude, " Wilt offered, "THIS dude is some hot-shot psychic investigator or somethin' from some big university, comin' to investigate all these legends about this Ax Murderer that nobody is supposed to be able to kill an' stuff, and HE'S gonna end up…"

"ARRRGGH! Will you just PLEEEASE let me watch the movie without telling me EVERYTHING that's gonna happen? Is that asking TOO much?"

"Frankie, I am SOOO SORRY! It won't happen again, I PROMISE! My lips are sealed, see?" Wilt made a "zipping" motion across his mouth with his one hand. Frankie, however, remained skeptical, wondering how much longer he'd hold out before he burst out with yet-another "spoiler".

This time, Wilt seemed able to hold to his promise, and did indeed remain silent as the movie went on, and the list of victims of the Ax Murderer grew. Subconsciously, Frankie almost wished she could have a LITTLE forewarning of impending violence, and without even realizing it, was scooting closer and closer to her silent companion on the sofa. Onscreen, a young couple, introduced earlier, had arrived at this house out in the middle of nowhere(NEVER a good thing in this sort of movie)for an appointment with a realtor who was trying to sell the house, but the realtor was apparently nowhere around.

"Now, this Ax Murderer-he's not, like, in this house somewhere, is he?" she asked.

"Uhm, no. He's not…WAIT, I thought you said you didn't want me tellin' you stuff that was gonna happen!"

"Yeah, you're right! I did; how stupid of me! Just ignore the question!"

The onscreen scene once more changed, this time to the young psychic investigator from the university exploring some dark and deserted old building, the perspective being shows as though someone was creeping up behind him. Frankie suddenly felt uncomfortable with her feet dangling off the sofa, near the floor, and pulled them up close to her on the seat, wriggling a little bit closer still to Wilt, who was once more scrunching himself up in the corner at the end of the sofa. Frankie indicated the psychic investigator with a motion of her hand. "Now, this guy-is HE gonna die?" Then, she answered herself, irritated, before Wilt could have any chance of responding, "Forget that. Just forget I said it! I KNOW I told you NOT to let me know what was gonna happen, and here I am bugging you about it! Let's – JUST –WATCH- THE-MOVIE!"

No sooner had Frankie made that latest suggestion, than onscreen, out of the shadows, but NOT in the direction that the camera angles had made unsuspecting viewers think it would come, than the blade of an ax sliced sideways, neatly lopping off the head of the unfortunate psychic investigator dude in a spray of scarlet, the camera closing in to reveal a close-up of fountains of special-effects red spurting from the stump of his neck as the body flailed hopelessly about the room.

"OH…UGH!" Frankie buried her face against Wilt's right shoulder. "Why didn't you TELL me that was gonna happen?"

In response, Wilt made slight choking noises, his shoulders shaking slightly. Looking up at him, Frankie was shocked to realize that his shaking was not due to fright, nor to disgust, but to barely-contained _laughter._

Incredulous, she was barely able to speak coherently. "Are you _LAUGHING_ at me? You think this is_ FUNNY?"_

Unable to hold back any longer, Wilt burst out with loud laughter this time, bringing his hand sharply down on his knee several times for emphasis. "I'm sorry, Frankie, but that WAS so funny! Yeah, I AM laughin' at you!" he struggled to form intelligible words through all his mirth. "First you were like, 'Now, don't spoil this by tellin' me everything that's gonna happen' ", he continued, raising his voice several octaves in an attempt to mimic Frankie's feminine pitch, "then, you were like, 'OK, is HE gonna die?', THEN, you're like, 'Why didn't you TELL me that was gonna happen', after I had SWORN I wasn't gonna tell you anything else!" With that, he fell victim to yet-another fit of uncontrolled laugher, leaning over the arm of the sofa.

"You STINKER! I can't believe you're making FUN of me!" Frankie grabbed one of the soft decorative pillows that adorned the sofa, flinging it at her still-laughing companion, though she herself was now struggling to keep from laughing at the situation, realizing that Wilt DID have a point, however silly he chose to make it. The pillow bounced harmlessly off the side of his head, falling to the floor, from where it was quickly scooped up by its intended target. Frankie barely had a second for her mind to register that Wilt had grabbed up the small pillow before _HE _tossed it right back at _HER. _Grabbing it with both hands just before it hit her nose, she hugged it to her stomach as they both enjoyed a good, stress-reducing laugh, sitting next to each other on an old sofa, in a darkened room, in front of a tv set.

Finally, as the hilarity of the moment gradually wore itself out, Frankie pulled her feet back up next to her on the sofa once more, sighing. They both turned their attentions back to the movie, well, sort of. A slight pang of guilt began to plague Wilt; maybe he SHOULD have given her some sort of warning about the guy getting his head lopped off. He really didn't want to think that Frankie would go to bed scared and upset because of HIM. And he really was out of line laughing at her like that, when she'd clearly been upset.

Turning from the tv to look at her, on the sofa beside him, Wilt spoke softly. "I really am sorry you got so scared, Frankie. I guess I shoulda warned you that was comin' up, even if it would mean breakin' my promise to keep my big mouth shut. And, I really shouldn'ta laughed at you, either; that was just wrong."

"Don't worry about it, Wilt. We both had a good laugh, and after THIS day, I for one needed it!"

"You sure you're OK? I mean…"

"Me? I'm fine."

"You're shivering. You SURE you're OK…you're not scared or anything?"

"What, me? Scared? Naw…well, I guess I am sorta cold. It is getting sorta chilly in here."

Wilt leaned forward, glancing around behind him, where he quickly found a solution to that problem. "Here, sit up a sec," he instructed, reaching around behind Frankie and himself to grab a large, hand-knitted Afghan that was draped over the back of the sofa, pulling it forward. With Frankie's assistance, he managed to get it spread out, finding it large enough to cover them both, and they settled in more comfortably now, to watch the conclusion of the movie. As Frankie leaned in toward him under the cover of the Afghan, Wilt couldn't help but worry that she, in spite of her denial, might still be afraid. Almost instinctively, but slowly and cautiously, as though certain of meeting with objections, he eased his right arm protectively around her shoulders underneath the Afghan. Meeting no resistance, and feeling her relax against his side, he, too, allowed himself to become more at ease.

Snuggled warmly underneath her grandmother's heirloom giant Afghan, the side of her face against Wilt's soft, velvety red fur, Frankie tried to focus on the remainder of the horror flick on the tv screen, but found it harder and harder to force her eyelids to remain open. The sound from the tv set seemed to be growing fainter, further away, the voices becoming more disconnected and separate from the warm, secure feeling that enveloped her, as the screen grew more and more out-of-focus. Gradually, the sights and sounds of the movie became dimmer, eventually replaced by a soft, soothing darkness.

Frankie never did see the conclusion of "_The Return of the Psycho Ax Murderer Who Wouldn't Die, Part Six"._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5-Revenge of the Evil Genius

5:15 am, Saturday morning, was not a good time for a would-be Evil Genius to be waking up, especially is that would-be Evil Genius happened to have had his whole life's work-OK, make that a whole four days worth of work-ruined by a tattle-tale lackey and some red-headed chick who thought she was the boss of the whole world. Still, 5: 15 am was when Bloo woke up, and found it impossible to go back to sleep, especially knowing that the tattle-tale lackey in question was sleeping soundly and contentedly under HIS-Bloo's-bed at that very instant! Gritting his teeth, Bloo decided that the best way to take out his current frustrations would be to sneak into the TV Room and play some video games before everyone else woke up, and breakfast was served. Throwing back the covers, he slid out of his bunk bed, started heading for the door, then figured he'd better go make the bed and not risk being reprimanded by that stuffy rules-obsessed rabbit again. Turning back towards the bed, Bloo took nearly a minute to realize that something was missing, not from his bed, but from UNDERNEATH it, namely that very same tattling henchman who'd ratted him out to Frankie. Puzzled, Bloo knelt down to get a better view-of a nearly-empty space, occupied only by a pillow and a blanket. That space should have also contained, at this hour, a sound-asleep, very tall red Imaginary Friend, who insisted upon sleeping underneath a bed because he was so tall that much of his lower legs and feet would hang off the end of a bed in a very uncomfortable way. Bloo didn't dwell on that absence for very long, though, figuring that maybe Wilt had made a trip to the restroom or wanted to get an early start at helping prepare breakfast for some 100+ occupants of the house. Bloo could deal with him later. For now, though, he needed to let off some steam still building up from the day before, and there was nothing better than some good shoot-em-up action on some games for that.

Walking down the darkened hallway towards the TV Room, Bloo couldn't help muttering angrily to himself. "…don't know who she thinks she is, bustin' into MY lab, takin' MY inventions! She must not know who SHE is dealing with here! And that, that always-do-good, scrawny-legs Mr.-Sorry-I'm-Perfect, Is-That-OK…why does EVERYBODY think he's sooooooo wonderful and stuff? I just BET he's got some deep, dark secret he's hidin' that'll make everybody realize he's NOT all that, and all **_I _**have to do is find it…What? Now who left the tv on?" Bloo knew, as did everyone else in the house, that the last person watching tv was absolutely NOT supposed to leave the set on when they went to bed, so why was it still on? Boy, if Herriman found out…oh, well, at least whoever did leave the tv on had saved Bloo from having to switch it on himself, and wait until his eyes adjusted to its brightness in the otherwise-dark room. They'd also done him the favor of leaving the volume down nice and low, so he wouldn't wake anyone up at this hour. Approaching the tv and the cabinet beside it where the games and DVD's were kept, Bloo totally failed to notice that he was not alone in the room. As he was perusing through the game titles, trying to decide on which one would best suit his mood, he thought he heard a slight rustling behind him, like that of cloth moving against cloth. The sound was so unexpected that for a few seconds Bloo simply froze, eyes wide, almost not wanting to turn around, even while mentally chastising himself that it was nothing. No one else was in the room with him. Turning around slowly, just so his eyes could confirm what his brain was telling him, Bloo's surprise at hearing a sound in a room in which he'd thought HE was the only occupant paled in comparison to what he actually _saw._

For what seemed like an eternity, Bloo could do nothing but stare at the sight before him on the sofa, his brain slowly losing control of his jaw, so that it proceeded to drop open like a trap door. He found it almost impossible to even _comprehend_ the sight; the ramifications were simply too mind-boggling at first for him to grasp. Gradually, though, even as his eyes continued to stare in amazement and near-disbelief, his brain shook itself and decided to take charge of the situation…and come up with a way that Bloo could use this…uh, _situation…_to his advantage. As the plan took shape, the expression of shock on the blue Friend's face began to give way to one a bit more, shall we say, _devious?_

_So, THAT'S why he wasn't under the bed! Mr. Perfect and Ms. Bossy…THIS explains it all, doesn't it? No WONDER she's always listenin' to HIS side of things…I bet nobody else in the whole house has ANY idea that THIS is goin' on right under their very noses, at least, not YET they don't? Wonder what everybody'll think of these two lovebirds when they DO find out, hmmm? After all, THIS is the sorta thing that can just really mess up somebody's perfect reputation, ain't it? Now, how can I get the word out, so to speak, without THESE two knowin' who let the cat outa the bag?_

_Racking his brain for a means of exacting the perfect act of revenge, Bloo suddenly remembered that old Madame Foster, with her sentimental self, kept a Polaroid camera, with film, in a drawer just off the downstairs foyer, to take keepsake pictures of Friends and their new adopting families before they departed. Moving quickly and silently out of the TV Room and down the stairs, Bloo practically raced to the chest of drawers in question, hoping his thudding heart wouldn't wake everyone in the house, and REALLY hoping that the camera would actually still be there, AND have film in it. Pulling open the drawer, Bloo felt around inside, and, to his relief, his hand fell upon the form of the camera, right where it was supposed to be. Pulling it out, he held it up in a patch of faint light filtering in through the foyer windows, and squinting, was just able to make out a number in the little box that indicated how many exposures were left. __One. _There was one exposure left, which meant he had just one chance to get the shot he needed, and then get the heck outa there! No problem, he'd used the Polaroid before, and it would only require one picture, after all, to tell the tale. Tucking the camera under his arm, Bloo ascended the stairs in leaps and bounds, to make it back to the TV Room and get his incriminating evidence before the perpetrators woke up. Soon, all the household would know that certain people's halos were _very _tarnished indeed!__

THIS is just TOO perfect! This is gonna be sooo good!


	6. Chapter 6

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Chapter 6-The Morning After (Or So It Would Seem)

Author's Note: Well, my Documents Manager here on is TOTALLY screwed up and will not allow me to edit my own chapters, so I'm having to do that on my harddrive and hope for the best. To my reviewers-many thanks! I am trying to keep this as close to the tv series as possible, and that includes those little references that little kids might not "get". If it seems as though Bloo is being too selfish, just wait-he will at least learn something, though will him it probably won't "stick", since it never does. Please keep the reviews coming, y'all! I apologize if this thing comes out in all-bold and all-italics; blame for that. I am unable to make any changes to any documents with the "edit" feature. Once again, the disclaimer applies: I do not own any of these characters; they belong to Cartoon Network.

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** In those moments before waking, as sleep gradually began to release its hold on her, Frankie began to gain bits and pieces of awareness of sensations. First sensation-warmth; she was unusually warm and cozy. The next, though, seemed a bit out of sorts; it seemed that she was not oriented in the usual horizontal sleep position, but propped up against something soft, more or less vertically. She became aware of background sounds-voices and music, and changes in the light, its colors, and intensity, which, even in her semi-conscious state, registered with her brain as a television. Had she fallen asleep with the small tv set in her room left on again?**

_"Act NOW and we will send you not just one, but TWO amazing…"_

"PsssssssshhhhhhhKK…"

It was this last sound which instigated the final assault on Frankie's sleep state, accompanied by what seemed to be an unusually bright flash from the tv. Groaning slightly, she began to stir at last from her slumbers, struggling to find the edge of the covers, her neck and shoulder muscles protesting at having to do so much work this early, and from such an unaccustomed position. Frankie opened her eyes, squinting around her at her surroundings, her disorientation increasing as they took in not the familiar sights of her room, but a much larger tv, chairs which were very different from those in her room, a hand-knit Afghan…and something red and velvet-furred, and it was NOT her old teddy bear! With sudden clarity, her brain leapt into gear, and she realized where she was, and WHO was with her, as the events of the previous night finally managed to manifest themselves.

Sitting straight up on the sofa, she assessed the situation. She was on the big sofa in the TV Room. She was covered partially with her grandmother's hand-knit giant Afghan. All four clocks visible to her in that room registered 5:40, presumably in the morning, which meant that soon, the rest of the house's denizens would be awakening to start their day, Mr. Herriman among the first. And, still peacefully lost in deep slumber beside her on the sofa, was last night's tv-watching partner, Wilt, the owner of the velvet-textured shoulder which had served as Frankie's pillow for the past several hours.

" Wilt! WILT!" Frankie hissed at him, shaking him as she did so to rouse him from sleep. Frowning slightly at this intrusion, Wilt began to stir, though much too slowly for Frankie's satisfaction. She shook him again, harder this time, "WILT! Wake UP…you have to wake up NOW!"

"Mmmmmrrrrr..Whaaahh?" intoned her companion as he opened his one good eye, his brain slowly coming back online and trying to make sense of where he was, and what Frankie was doing there, since this was clearly not the normal state of things that greeted him when he awoke each morning. The reality of the situation suddenly hit him full-force, jolting him upright in an instant-he had been sleeping on the sofa in the TV Room…with the granddaughter of the woman who owned the house he was graciously allowed to stay in right beside him!

"Frankie! What…HOW…I'm SORRY, but I…I mean, WE…"

Frankie cut him off mid-panic, "Just chill out, will you? I guess we musta fell asleep last night while watching that movie. It's still pretty early; looks like no one else is up yet, so let's just get this thing folded up over the back of the sofa, and get back to our rooms, alright?"

"I am really, really sorry about this, I TOTALLY did not mean to fall asleep like that! And I sure HOPE you're right about nobody else being awake-you KNOW how people like to talk, and if anyone came in and saw us like this, we will NEVER hear the end of it!" exclaimed Wilt as he stood up from the sofa, stretching his long legs and arm to get his circulation going about its job more efficiently. "I mean, I can get expelled for this sorta…"

Frankie interrupted him again, motioning with her hands for him to lower his voice, "Just keep it down, willya? Like I said, I'm sure no one saw us, so no one will be the wiser. We can just get on back to our rooms, act like nothing happened, right? 'Cause even if anyone DID see us, we got nothing to hide, right? I mean, we FELL ASLEEP while watching tv…happens all the time! It's not like we actually _did _anything, right?"

Wilt pondered this for a moment, while helping Frankie get the Afghan folded up and in its proper place over the back of the sofa, and collected the popcorn bowl from last night. "I guess you're right. We'll just go on back to our rooms, like you said, and play it cool, and nobody has to know. And of course nothin' _happened_; we just fell asleep, like you said, so uhm, no problem there, I guess." He turned and started quietly towards the door, then paused briefly, with the slightest hint of a mischievous smirk on his face, added, "And I'm pretty sure I woulda remembered if anything _did_ happen!"

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An hour later, Frankie was back in her room, dressed, hair combed and pulled back in its accustomed pony tail, trying to put the night behind her. It was a simple thing, honestly-she and Wilt had fallen asleep on the sofa while watching a late-night movie. No biggie, as her friend Kathie would say. Sure, they'd take plenty of joking from others if they HAD been seen, but apparently she'd been correct in assuming that they'd been the only ones up at that hour, as the hallways were silent and dark as she'd made her way back to her room from the TV Room. She just hoped that Wilt made it back to HIS room before Eduardo woke up, otherwise the entire domicile would soon be awakened by Ed's panicked screams when he realized that his self-appointed protector from All Things Scary wasn't there in his usual spot underneath Ed and Bloo's bunk bed. No big deal, indeed-she'd just head on down to the kitchen and start preparing breakfast. One thing, though, kept nagging at Frankie's mind, not a major nagging, but enough that she couldn't quite dispel it. That _sound…_the one she'd been awakened by, and the flash of light…had it been on tv? It had seemed oddly out-of-place with the infomercials that had been airing when she finally did awaken fully, and it had also seemed vaguely familiar, though she couldn't quite place it. Maybe she'd dreamed it, and it wasn't even real. She'd have to make a point, though, to ask Wilt about it as they got breakfast ready for the residents, just to satisfy her curiosity if nothing else.

For a moment, Frankie's mind wandered back to the sensation of waking up next to the red Imaginary Friend in question, of feeling so warm and secure. It was almost…she shook her head, rebuking herself out loud, "Now girl, don't EVEN go there! Geesh, has it been THAT long since you had a date? SERIOUSLY!" Pushing any such silly notions from her mind, she opened the door and headed out for the kitchen. Nothing like work to take one's mind off of…such…ridiculous stuff.

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Upon returning to his room, Wilt had held his breath as he carefully opened the door, but much to his immense relief, had found that his roommates all appeared to be slumbering peacefully, unaware of his absence. All he had to do now was slide under the bunk bed, chill for an hour or so, then get up with the rest and act like nothing had happened, because, of course, it HADN'T._ "So, WHY do ya haveta keep reminding yourself of that, huh?"_ his conscience nagged. Wilt knew that for him, at least, the stakes were pretty high if someone HAD seen them together like that on the sofa, underneath the covers. There were rules against Imaginary Friends having…uh, engaging in…doing THAT sorta thing with employees, _strong_ rules. The sorta rules that could very well get him thrown out of the house, for good, and back out on his own…again. Just the thought of being…_abandoned…_once more, of having to perhaps go through something like _THAT_ again, was enough to give him cold chills, pushing from his mind any pleasant memories he'd carried to his room of waking up on that sofa with a warm, soft body next to his.

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Frankie really wasn't even thinking about how her morning had started as she headed towards the kitchen. Her thoughts, at that moment, centered on getting breakfast ready for what was in excess of one-hundred residents, and she was already a few minutes behind. She would probably have to listen to one of the rabbit's lectures on the value of punctuality yet again. Oh, well…

In the hallway, she happened to pass by two female Imaginary Friends, who were engaged in some heated, hush-hush conversation outside one of the restrooms. As Frankie approached, they both suddenly ceased their chatter, and turned to stare at HER. Frankie walked past them, really needing to get to the kitchen, only to hear them both burst into a fit of giggling behind her back. _What was THAT all about? I swear, some people can be soooo immature!_ They could have been giggling about anything, but for some reason, Frankie couldn't help but to feel that _she_ was the object of their laughter. But _WHY?_

Some ten minutes later, cracking open eggs and pouring their contents into a large frying pan, Frankie had already pushed the hallway encounter out of her mind. She, after all, had a lot of hungry mouths to feed. It wasn't long before she heard the familiar sound of basketball shoes-very _large_ basketball shoes-squeaking on the tile flooring, and the kitchen door swung open to let in her frequent breakfast-preparing assistant, Wilt. No one made him help out with preparing breakfast; he just often took it upon himself to volunteer for this sort of thing, NOT that Frankie minded, of course. She could always use all the help she could get.

Upon spying her, though, Wilt's eye seemed to have difficulty looking directly at her, as though he was still bugged with guilt about that morning. _Poor guy, _thought Frankie, _he's so scared he'll do something to make someone mad and get himself thrown out!_

"Well?" she queried, "how was everything back at your room? No problems?"

"Naw, no problems whatsoever," Wilt responded, loosening up a bit. "Everyone was sound asleep, still."

"See, I told you everything would be cool! There's nothing to worry about!"

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean, who else woulda been up at that time of the morning? Even Mr. H. doesn't get up THAT early!"

Behind her, Wilt had entered the large walk-in pantry. Frankie could hear him inside, whistling some old R&B tune, and felt glad that at least he seemed to have stopped worrying about the morning's start. It was then that she remembered what it was that she'd been meaning to ask him. As he strolled out of the pantry, and approached the counter next to the stove, carrying several loaves of bread in his hand, Frankie paused from scrambling eggs to ask him what had been on her mind.

"Uh, Wilt?"

"Yeah?"

"Like, right before I woke you up this morning, did you hear anything, like this unusual noise…you know, like this sorta hissing sound or something, or see a bright light?"

"I don't think so…why?"

"Well, I'm not sure if I dreamed it, or it was on tv, or what, but it seemed like this weird noise sorta woke ME up, right before I woke YOU up, but I guess if you didn't hear it, I must have dreamed it afterall."

Wilt shrugged. "I dunno, like I said, I don't remember hearing anything", he paused for a moment, then continued, "other than YOU snoring, anyways!"

Frankie stopped, mid-scramble, and turned to face him, her jaw dropping open in outrage. "I don't SNORE!"

Wilt continued placing bread slices on the toast rack, but shook his head and chuckled as he offered his rebuttal of THAT claim, "I'm sorry, but you TOTALLY snore! I thought at first I'd fallen asleep during one of those 'Biker Build-off' shows on the _Discovery Channel_ or somethin'!"

"Ha! Just for THAT, Mr. Funny Guy, I'm half a mind to give YOUR breakfast to Duchess, so THERE!"

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Later, seated at his regular place at the breakfast table, finishing up his breakfast (which Frankie had NOT given to Duchess, after all), Wilt noted the arrival of one of his roommated, Bloo. Late, as usual.

"Mornin', Bloo," he spoke amicably as the short blue friend took the seat next to him.

"And good morning to YOU, Wilt! Sleep WELL last night, did we?"

Wilt couldn't help but notice something rather odd in the tone of voice Bloo was using, but chose to brush it off.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I did sleep well. Thanks for askin'!"

"Oh, I just BET you did sleep well, I just bet you DID! You must have been workin' REAL hard, so you woulda been ALL tired out, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, well…I mean, I guess…" Wilt decided to discontinue the conversation and turned back to what was left of his breakfast.

Just then a small group of Friends arrived at the table, talking among themselves. As they took their seats opposite of Wilt's, one of them, a gelatinous Friend known as "Shaky", grinned,

"Well, look who's here! Wilt, you lucky dog, you!"

Another Friend had walked up behind Wilt, and nudged his shoulder with his elbow, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Yeah, buddy! So… tell me, how WAS it, huh?"

Wilt glanced briefly at his now nearly-empty breakfast plate, then replied, "Well, it was pretty _good,_ actually…"

"Hear that, guys…he says it was 'pretty good'!" proclaimed the Friend who'd just asked, prompting a bunch of whoops and cat-calls from some of the Friends-mostly male-seated around the table.

Wilt frowned slightly, puzzled. "I don't see what the big deal is, guys-I mean, I usually have some EVERY morning!"

THIS prompted a series of stunned gasps from his sudden audience, which in turn prompted Wilt to explain further, since it seemed as though his audience had not been prepared for that last statement. "It's not like this should be news to anybody, I mean, Frankie and me have been busy in that kitchen almost EVERY morning now for the past several years!"

At this particular piece of information, the entire ensemble virtually erupted into yells, more whoops, and exclamations, causing Wilt to get the uncomfortable feeling that he was the butt of some unknown joke, and that his words were being twisted, somehow, to have some _other_ meanings besides what he'd intended. _Surely they couldn't be talkin' about….THAT, could they? Surely none of the other residents KNEW, or DID they?_

"What is the meaning of this uncivilized uproar? This is a BREAKFAST table, where patrons are expected to conduct themselves with proper DECORUM, not some…some…_Redneck _uhhm, _establishment!"The diners seated around the table fell silent, all eyes turning towards the head of the table, to a place occupied by six-foot tall rabbit, dressed in circa-early-Twentieth-Century gentleman's garb, complete with a top hat and a monocle: Mr. Herriman. Nodding approvingly at the silence, he took his seat. "Now, that's what I like to see-a group of __civilized, _well-mannered, and best of all, _quiet _diners! Very well, carry on with breakfast, everyone!"

Wilt's appetite for what was left of his scrambled eggs had vanished by this time, replaced with a gnawing sensation of worry. He pushed his chair back from the table, and picking up his plate, politely excused himself, apologizing for leaving the table so early. He left the dining room on the claimed pretense than he had a lot of work to do, though he didn't fail to notice a few snickers and comments on the subject of "work" from his dining companions. As he walked self-consciously past several of them, a roughly humanoid Friend called Chester, who was perpetually dressed in cowboy threads, turned to watch him leave.

"Every mornin', huh? DANG, and I can't even git that gal to fix ME a pot of GRITS!"


	7. Chapter 7

Ch. 7- Trouble Brewing

**Sorry it's been so long since an update: school has started up, and with that goes all the chaos that usually accompanies the start of school, and all the paperwork I have to get done. Thanks again to all my reviewers; hopefully it won't be too long before I can find time to write another chapter.**

By 10:00 am, things had begun to settle back into a fairly normal routine for the residents of Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends…well, almost. There appeared to be an ever-increasing rumor going around that one particular Imaginary Friend had been getting a little _too _friendly with one of the staff, so to speak. It was not long before news of this rumor reached one of the accused parties in question.

Frankie was performing one of her least-favorite household chores-cleaning bathrooms-when she happened to overhear a conversation outside in the hallway between a small, stick-shaped Friend and the aforementioned Chester, and upon hearing HER name mentioned specifically, paused in her work long enough for a bit of eavesdropping.

"Yeah, can you BELIEVE him and that gal's been gittin' it on in the kitchen every dang mornin'? Right there under our noses, just about?'

"Seriously, who'd a thought him and Frankie would be…you know…doin' THAT, and right here in her grandmother's own house, too! Sure seems like there'd be rules against that sorta thing!"

_WHAT! What did they mean by "him and Frankie"? And exactly WHAT was this supposedly awful thing that the two of them had been doing? _Well, Frankie Foster had never been the sort to let things like this slide by without further investigation, especially when it allegedly involved HER, so she resolved there and then to get to the bottom of this. Putting down her scrub brush, she stood up and marched straight out into the hallway to confront the two.

Needless to say, the two conversationalists were quite surprised to look up and see HER standing there, arms crossed in that determined, take-no-prisoners fashion. Chester attempted to cover for his part in the conversation, fumbling for the right words, while his companion seemed to have literally frozen in place, his one huge eye open wide.

"Mornin', Miss Frances…uh, shore is nice purty weather we're havin' today, ain't it?" he drawled, the nervousness in his voice evident.

"Well, Chester, you know, I hadn't noticed the weather, since according to YOU two, I've supposedly been too busy 'gittin' it on" with someone, which really is news to ME! Now, which of you two wants to explain just what this is all about, hmmm? And don't try claiming that you didn't say anything about ME, because I was just right on the other side of this door, and heard everything!"

For a moment, the two Imaginary Friends said nothing, clearly trying to line up their responses before opening their mouths. Frankie stood her ground; if someone was spreading rumors about her, or anyone else for that matter, she intended to get to the bottom of it. Finally, it was the green stick-like Friend who spoke up, in a surprisingly deep voice.

"You know, it's really NOT any of our business, you know…who…you…you know…sleep with or stuff…"

Frankie's jaw dropped. She was hardly able to believe what she was hearing, let alone formulate an intelligent response. "Who I _WHAT _with? Did you just say SLEEP? I'm being accused of SLEEPING with someone, as in someone IN THIS HOUSE?"

Chester responded, hesitantly, "Well, ain't nobody _accusin'_ you so much as they is leavin' _evidence; _ I mean, there WUZ this-here picture of y'all, 'n all…" his eyes were downcast, as though he was hoping to find some really interesting on the floor.

"A PICTURE? Of me and WHO, pray tell! I mean, I sleep with a TEDDY BEAR, for Pete's sake!"

"Well, let's see…I do believe it wuz you 'n Mister Wilt, that tall red guy, all snuggled up right thar on the couch, and me 'n Shaky 'n Patterson DID hear him say over breakfast this mornin' that y'all been busy in the kitchen pert-near EVERY mornin…"

"Yeah, we've been BUSY making BREAKFAST for the rest of YOU guys!" Something began to dawn of Frankie, something that had been nagging at the back of her mind every since she'd been awakened that morning, and with sudden clarity, it came to her just what it was: that _noise._

That mysterious sound she'd heard as she was waking up, but couldn't quite place-NOW she realized what it was.

It had been the sound of a Polaroid camera, taking a snapshot. That would also explain the bright flash of light, which Frankie had originally attributed to the television set.

She had to stay calm, she reminded herself. OK, so someone HAD seen her and Wilt asleep on the sofa, and had apparently taken a Polaroid picture of them, a picture which was now circulating about the house. But the questions remained, _WHO, _and _WHY? _Was this someone's idea of a joke, or, was it something even more serious? Closing her eyes, and placing her index fingers against her temples, Frankie tried to remain cool and collected, to get the information she needed.

"Ok, you say there was a photograph…_WHO _had the photograph?"

"Uhm", the stick-like Friend responded, somewhat hesitantly, "Handy showed it to me, but he swore he didn't take it. HE said that Albert gave it to HIM…"

"…and Albert said that Daisy give the picture to HIM…" Chester waded in.

That was exactly what Frankie had been fearing; someone had taken the snapshot, then simply left it lying around, where they KNEW it would be discovered, and it was apparently making its round throughout the house, which would of course make tracking down the primary culprit-the photographer-more difficult. First, though, Frankie needed to find the photo itself, before it ended up in either the hands of Mr. Herriman, or worse, her grandmother! She also felt that she needed to make the second victim of this little scandal aware of what was going on, if he didn't' already know.

This was going to be a looooong day.

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It didn't take Frankie long to find her alleged partner in crime, since he, apparently, was also looking for HER. They met up with each other in the foyer, in almost the exact same spot at which, just the day before, Wilt had nearly walked right over her in his search for a plastic wash pail. Today's search, though, was a bit more urgent.

Upon spotting each other, they both tried to speak at the same time, Wilt calling out Frankie's name, followed by, "Something's happened, we need to _talk!"_ while at the same moment Frankie called out to HIM, telling HIM that they needed to talk. This was followed by an awkward moment of silence, with each uncertain of whether to go ahead and speak, or wait for the other one, then each prompting the other one to go first. Since Wilt was the one most insistent upon Frankie speaking first, her turn finally won out.

"Look…_somebody_ apparently DID catch us after we fell asleep on the sofa, and took a PICTURE! That sound…the one I thought I'd heard right before I was really awake, you know, the one I asked you about…it was a camera! I just spoke with Chester and that stick guy, and they both have seen the photo!"

"Yeah, I know, that's what I was tryin' to find you about! A bunch of guys kept ribbin' me and stuff, asking me things like, 'how was it?'-I didn't even know what they were talkin' about 'till one of 'em mentioned having seen you 'n me in a photograph, uh, you know…_sleepin'!"_

Frankie sighed in exasperation. WHO would have done such a thing, and what did they stand to gain from it? She responded to Wilt's obvious agitation, "Alright, the first thing we need to do is to track down that photo and THEN we need to find out who actually took the snapshot in the first place. This is either someone's idea of a joke, or somebody is really trying to cause trouble for you AND for me…" ; Wilt interrupted her, "Yeah, but it will mean much MORE trouble for ME if that picture winds up in the hands of Mr. Herriman OR your grandmother! I can get EXPELLED for this sorta thing, if they get the wrong idea about what you 'n me were actually doin' on that sofa! I mean, there ARE rules against us…us Imaginary Friends, I mean, and employees…well, YOU know…AND your grandmother OWNS this house I'm bein' ALLOWED to stay in! If SHE finds out…oh, this is SOOO not OK!"

Frankie could hear panic creeping into Wilt's voice, growing every more evident by the seconds. She knew that in spite of his nearly-always-cheerful demeanor, Wilt was always a bit afraid of doing something that would make the powers-that-be angry enough to throw him out of the house, back out on his own. She also knew that both of them needed to stay as calm as possible, in order to get to the bottom of this.

"Look, Wilt, just stay calm, will ya? It's not going to do either one of us a bit of good to panic, so we have to just try to stay rational, OK?"

"Sorry, Frankie; I know that's easy for YOU to say, since Madame Foster IS your grandmother, but me? I dunno…if your grandmother gets her hands on that photo, I'm dead. That's all there is to it; I AM DEAD. I might as well just go ahead 'n lay down on the floor with a lily on my chest as soon as I see her comin', 'cause I'm dead!"

"Oh, come on! What's she gonna do-she's an old lady, for crying out loud! Besides, my grandmother is a lot more reasonable than that; I'm sure if worse came to worse, MY word ought to at least count for something. I mean, seriously, we DID just fall asleep on the sofa while watching television! Surely we're not the only two intelligent beings on the planet who've ever done that, right? Let's just try to stay calm, let's go back and talk to the last people we know have seen the photo, find out WHERE they saw it, and who had it, you know, leave no stone unturned-that sorta thing."

Wilt seemed to ponder this train of thought for a few seconds, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, his one real eye glancing around, nervously as he chewed his bottom lip a bit. Finally, he sighed and responded. "I guess you're right. Panicking isn't going to get us anywhere, and neither is all this negative thinkin' of mine." Then he added, "I'm sorry, but whoever did this is just WRONG!" a bit of anger now beginning to creep into his voice on top of the anxiety.

"Yeah, I know. We'll find out who it is, but our first priority is getting our hands on the photo, before Mr. Herriman, at least, sees it. He's the one I'd worry about more than my grandmother, personally. THEN we can worry about damage control, and finding out who's behind all this. Let's split up, OK-I think we'd have a better chance of finding it if you took one part of the house, and I took the other, right?"

"Yeah, you're right. We do need to split up. I mean, if anyone DOES see us even talkin' to each other right now, it's just gonna make things worse." With another sigh, he turned slowly and headed off towards the kitchen area. Frankie stayed where she was briefly, watching him go. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and a little afraid that Wilt MIGHT be right about what would happen if that photo did indeed end up in the wrong hands. It would be such ashame for someone as nice, and completely innocent of wrongdoing, in this case, to be punished by the thing he feared the most: being abandoned yet again. Finally, she too, turned to head away in the opposite direction. Wilt's voice stopped her.

"Hey, Frankie?"

"Uhm, yeah?"

She turned to see that he'd stopped, and was looking back over his shoulder at her, the slightest hint of a smile trying to establish itself on his face.

"You really don't snore as bad as I said you did, I just wanted you to know that. I've heard much worse, believe me!"

Frankie couldn't help but grin, shaking her head a bit. At first, that statement had seemed rather odd, in light of their current situation, but then, she'd learned to expect no less from Wilt.

"Thanks for telling me. Now, at least that's one less thing for me to worry about!"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8. An Exercise in Futility

Author's Note: The latest chapter is up! This one is probably the "darkest" chapter yet, though I've still tried to keep it faithful to the show as much as possible. The usual disclaimers still apply; I don't own any of the characters, as they belong to "Cartoon Network". Please keep the reviews coming, y'all! I already pretty much know how this one will end, and depending on whether or not the readers are interested, am tentatively planning a sequel...sort of.

After splitting up in order to facilitate their search for the incriminating photo in question, Wilt and Frankie both discovered that the object of their search was more elusive than they'd ever imagined. Many Friends claimed to have SEEN the photo, but no one could offer any clues as to just who had it now, let alone who'd taken it and started its circulation in the first place. As one dead end led right to another dead end, their frustration and Wilt's anxiety that the photo, or at least word of its existence, would end up in Madame Foster's possession, began to increase considerably. Who would have every thought that a simple Polaroid photograph could prove to be such an elusive quarry? AND, finding IT was only half the battle; the real hunt would have to be for the individual who'd taken it and started all this mess, and finding out WHY he/she'd done it.

Mac arrived that Saturday around 2 o'clock, a bit earlier than usual, hoping that Bloo had gotten over his obsession with being some super-genius weapons developer and making lots of money from his so-called inventions. This was part of Bloo's nature; he would frequently and suddenly develop such obsessions with various things, which more often that not involved some means of attracting attention to himself, then just as quickly abandon those in favor of newer, and often more ridiculous, obsessions.

Upon entering the large mansion, Mac could not but to pick up on some rather unusual vibes, a certain tension, if you will, that was noticeable even to an eight-year-old. As he passed a throng of Imaginary Friends in the foyer, they seemed a bit less friendly, more agitated, many ignoring him completely, instead of speaking, which was rather unusual. Clearly, _something_ was going on, something out of the ordinary, even for THIS place, to have generated such tension, and Mac was struck with a particularly nasty suspicion that it had something to do with a certain small blue creature. This served to hasten his search for his little blue pal, to find out what was going on. Mac was pretty sure that Bloo would deny any involvement, but that was fine, since most of the time Bloo would end up tattling on himself in one way or another. It was strange, thought the eight-year-old boy, how much Bloo at times reminded him of Mac's older brother, who also had a tendency to tell on himself with his "monologging" .

Mac figured that the best place to look for his Imaginary Friend would be in the room(or was that still a "secret lab"?)he shared with three others, so he climbed the stairs up to that floor and headed for Bloo's room. Before he could reach the door, however, it opened, and out stepped two of Bloo's roommates, the massive, purple-furred bullish Eduardo, and his even stranger companion, the bird-plant-plane crash creature, Coco. Spotting Mac, Eduardo nearly knocked the kid over in his enthusiasm to greet him.

"Hola, Mac! It is so good to see you again, mi amigo!" One would assume, upon hearing this greeting, that it had been weeks, or months even, since they had last seen each other, rather than the day before, but this sort of thing was to be expected of the burly purple-furred Friend.

"Oh, hi, Eduardo. Say, either of you guys seen Bloo? I dunno, but something seems to be going on around here, and I just wanna make sure it doesn't have anything to do with him, though I have a really bad feeling that it DOES!"

"Oh, Si! Something IS going on! Everyone is talking about the picture."

Mac frowned in confusion. "Picture? What sort of picture?" More and more, Mac was feeling that his gut instinct as to Bloo's involvement in whatever was going on was a reality after all.

Eduardo continued with his explanation. "Oh, there is a photograph that was taken here in the house sometimes last night, maybe, that is being passed around, and has everyone talking."

Mac paused for a moment, hoping that Eduardo would elaborate, but seeing that this wasn't getting anywhere, decided to prompt him further.

"Photograph? Why would everyone be so excited over a photograph? What was in it?"

"It was Wilt and Frankie…on the couch in the TV Room…at night…in the, uhm, dark." Eduardo seemed rather hesitant to be telling Mac this information, and began to twiddle his hooves together nervously, all the while failing to meet Mac's eyes. He continued, glancing around at the walls and floor in a manner than suggested he wished that they would speak for him, so he would have to. "They must have gone in there late last night, after everyone was asleep, and…and…"

"Co co Coco!" interjected Coco,

"Busy? What do you mean, "busy? Mac asked, genuinely puzzled.

Eduardo frowned at Coco, taking a defensive tone now. "They weren't BUSY; they were SLEEPING!"

"Wait…Wilt and Frankie? Sleeping? As in TOGETHER?"

"Si! Together…under a blanket on the couch! Just sleeping, like dos bambinos." Eduardo finished, nodding proudly that he'd successfully cleared this matter up once and for all, then, his smile quickly fading into doubt as he once more realized that perhaps it wasn't cleared up.

Mac pondered _this _bit of new information. What could possibly be the big deal with Wilt and Frankie sleeping on the sofa that would get the whole house into a tizzy? People fell asleep on sofas all the time. He'd certainly done it more times than he could count. Before he could ask, though, Eduardo inexplicably turned mind-reader and answered for him.

"Coco and I are going to find the picture and get rid of it before Mr. Herriman finds it and shows it to Madame Foster. Mr. Herriman has rules against us Imaginary Friends…you know, uhm…uhm,.." he was at a loss for the right words at this point, so Coco took it upon herself to help out.

"Coco CoCO co coco co co co!"

"Gracias, Coco! Si, Mr. Herriman has rules against us 'messing around with people who work here'. Senor Wilt can get in mucho trouble if Mr. Herriman sees that picture! They might even kick him out, and that would be very sad! Wilt is my bestest amigo, and I don't want him to get kicked out! That is why we must find this photograph and tear it up into teeny, tiny little bits, no?"

This was making no sense at all to Mac. First, he never even knew that Wilt and Frankie would "mess around", as Eduardo had put it. He'd never noticed that they were anything other than friends. Even if that WEREN'T the case, though, it didn't seem like anyone else's business but theirs, so it would have to be a really mean and spiteful person to sneak up on them while they were sleeping and take a picture, then circulate the picture around the house. This was ESPECIALLY the case if what Eduardo said about the rules were true, and Wilt could really get kicked out of Foster's if that photo ended up in either Mr. Herriman's or Madame Foster's hands. Why would someone want to get Wilt kicked out, of all the Imaginary Friends in the entire household? It was difficult to fathom how ANYONE could have it in for Wilt, or Frankie, for that matter, since she could possibly lose her job over something ridiculous like this.

"You're right; we do need to find that photo. I don't want Wilt OR Frankie to get in trouble, either. But first, I need to find Bloo. Maybe he knows where this photograph is, or who took it. You guys haven't seen him, have you?"

"Co co co co co CoCo co", replied Coco, pointing with one of her feet in the direction of the TV Room, down the hall.

"Thanks, Coco! I'll let you guys know if I find out anything about that photograph. I hope one of us can find it before Mr. Herriman or Madame Foster does!" With that, the eight-year-old turned and headed at a fast walk down the hallway towards the TV Room, where he hoped he might at least find Bloo.

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Coco had turned out to be correct, and Mac soon caught up with the object of HIS original search, on the sofa, leaning back watching some nature program on spiders and wearing an extremely bored expression on his blue face.

"'Bout time you got here! I thought I was gonna die of boredom watching this show on styoopid spiders! Don't these people have anything better to do than watch some styoopid ole' spider build a web? I mean, come ON…"

Bloo's creator interrupted his critique of nature programming and the intellectual capacities of arachnids to call Bloo's attention to a more urgent matter. "Bloo, we need your help, Eduardo and Coco and me. Somebody took a photograph of Wilt and Frankie asleep on a sofa and now it's being passed around through the house to make it look like were…you know, 'messing around', like, you know…with each other. Which I'm SURE they WEREN'T, but we need…"

"Yeah, I know. I took it." Bloo stated nonchalantly, with a wave of a hand that indicated this was all old news to him and not worth listening to again.

"…find it and…Wait, you WHAT? Did I just hear you say that YOU took the photograph?" At least seven different and distinct expressions of disbelief tried to pile up on Mac's face at once upon hearing this news clip.

"Yep. It was me. Took the incriminating piece of evidence right here in THIS room, on THIS very sofa, as a – mat-TER – of – FACT!" Bloo seemed to brush a few crumbs off the arm of the sofa, looking more smug than any living being had any right to.

Mac was stunned. He knew that his Imaginary Friend could be a bit spiteful at times, but THIS was going too far, even for him. "…Where I'm SURE they really DID just fall asleep watching television! But WHY, Bloo? Why would you wanna do something like that and them pass the picture around so everyone could see it? I just don't get it!"

"Don't 'get it', huh? What's so hard to 'get'? Frankie acts like SHE owns the place, sometimes, instead of her grandmother…always getting in MY business! And Wilt…everyone thinks he is just Sooooooo perfect, always getting "Friend of the Month', always helping out all the time, while it turns out that Mr. Perfect is just a back-stabbing traitor! Now, everyone can see that those two aren't as wonderful and perfect as everyone thought they were!" Bloo crossed his arms in front of him, glowering at his creator, then shifted his gaze back to the tv, apparently finding the spiders more appealing after all.

"I cannot believe you'd do something like this just to get even with Frankie for making you give back all those things you'd taken, or with Wilt for telling HER than his cleaning bucket was missing! This is LOW, Bloo, really, really LOW! This sounds more like something TERRENCE would do!"

Bloo winced. That last comment _stung._ If there was any being on the face of the planet he'd rather NOT be compared to, it was Mac's older brother, Terrence. He turned to face his creator once more.

"Mac…I am deeply HURT that you would even think that about me!" The whiny tone began to creep into his voice, replacing the arrogant one he'd used just second before. "Besides, I don't see what the big hairy deal is! Sure, it will tarnish certain people's reputations a little bit, but sometimes certain people NEED to get taken down from their little pedestals every now and then. After a few weeks, everyone will forget about the whole thing!"

"Not if that photo ends up with Mr. Herriman or Madame Foster seeing it, they won't! Bloo, don't you realize that if they see it and think that Wilt is fooling around with Madame Foster's GRANDDAUGHTER, that he can be kicked out of Foster's, for good? Is THAT what you want to happen?"

Bloo snorted with disdain at this question. Honestly, the boy could be so dense sometimes! "Of course not! Why would I want THAT to happen? Anyway, Mr. H. and Madame F. are both so old that even if they DID see the picture, they probably WOULD just think that Wilt and Frankie just innocently fell asleep watching tv!"

"Which I'm sure they DID! Even if that wasn't the case…which I'm sure it IS, it's still nobody's business but THEIRS! And _I_ still can't believe you'd stoop this low just to make someone else look bad!"

" It's not so much about making others look BAD; it's about making ME look more good…or something like that. All I wanted was to design and sell my technology and get rich, 'cause everyone loves RICH people! I just wanted for everyone to love ME, instead of going crazy over some Goody Two-Socks all the time! Is that so wrong?"

Mac shook his head, not sure whether to feel angry or sad for his Imaginary Friend. "Yeah, Bloo, it IS so wrong. It's wrong to think you can make yourself look better just by making someone else look bad! Didn't you learn ANYTHING from '_The Incredibles'_? The reason that Syndrome was defeated was because he tried to be something he wasn't, and he thought that he had to hurt others just to make people like HIM. He could have used his own talents to do good things and become famous and popular that way, but instead he used them to hurt people. It's like what my second-grade teacher used to say, 'it's better to be hated for what you are, than to be liked for something you're NOT!'" Mac paused a moment, then continued, "So, where is this photograph, anyway?"

Bloo's attention was back on the tv, his face trying very hard not to betray any emotion. He shrugged. "Yeah, I learned why you should never wear a CAPE! Anyway, how should I know where it is? Last time I saw it was around seven this morning. I'm sure it'll turn up, somewhere…"

"Well, you better help find it, before it 'turns up' in Mr. Herriman's office! You started this whole mess, now it's up to you to help fix it. And, once you find that photo and destroy it, you're gonna apologize to Wilt and Frankie for putting them through all this, got it?"

Bloo sighed, slouching back against the arm of the sofa, trying to feign indifference. "Yeah, yeah, OK…just keep your shirt on! I'll help find it in just a minute!"

Mac simply shook his head, and turned and walked out, leaving Bloo alone on the sofa, wondering if Bloo really did intend to help find that photo, or if he was even capable of caring for anyone else anymore.

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Slumped down in the corner between the arm and back of the sofa, Bloo tried to concentrate on the spider program, miffed at what Mac had just chewed him out about. WHY did things always have to end up this way? It wasn't HIS fault. What was so bad about wanting everyone to like HIM, or being rich? Rich people had it made, they really, really did. _Bet Donald Trump_ _never had to put up with this sort of nagging_. He'd find the photograph, and hopefully Mac wouldn't go run his mouth about who took it, but right now, the spider show was getting sorta interesting…for a show on spiders. _Who knew those little suckers could hear with their LEGS, for_ _crying out loud?_ _Learn something new every day…_Bloo yawned. He really had not had enough sleep, what with not being able to get a decent night's rest the night before, and having gotten up much earlier than usual. _Gotta help find that photograph…don't see what the big deal is, though. Nobody'll get punished. Spider silk is hundreds of times stronger than steel…wow. _Yawn…_gotta tell Mac that one…bet even he doesn't know that…I don't act like Terrence…Terrence is a styoopid-head….not….like…me…_

_…spiders….spitting venom…gotta…find…_

_…photograph…later..._

_Rather abruptly, the tv program on spiders changed scenes. Suddenly, instead of close-up shots of eight-legged, silk-spinning venomous carnivores, the scene switched to a grimy city street, obviously in the grip of a terrible winter storm. Blinding snow filled the screen, blown horizontal by fierce winds howling down the nearly-abandoned streets. It was so realistic, that Bloo could have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped by at least 15 degrees! __Now, THAT was weird,_ he thought. _Maybe I accidentally hit the channel button on the remote or something._ Glancing around on the sofa for the remote so he could change it back to the spider show instead of this dismal and cold scene, Bloo was shocked to discover than he was no longer on the sofa. He was, as unbelievable as it seemed, sitting on a concrete bench, on a sidewalk, on that same frigid city street he'd been watching on tv just moments before. _Well, guess that explains why it got so cold in here all of a sudden, doesn't it? _

_Bloo stood up from his rather uncomfortable hard seat, surveying the scene around him with increasing bewilderment and growing alarm. How'd he get HERE, of all places? Where, exactly, WAS "here", besides somewhere really, really cold? A car passed by slowly on the street behind him, snow chains clanking against the ice-slick pavement. Bloo hugged his arms to himself, trying to keep warm. __You'd think that whoever dumped me HERE could have at LEAST made sure I had a COAT!_ Well, obviously, standing here on a wind-swept street corner freezing was not an idea way to spend an afternoon, so Bloo decided that his first priority was to get inside, inside somewhere WARM. He would have to work out just where he was, and how he'd gotten there, after he thawed out. _Hey, at least this gets me outa having to look for that dumb photograph._

_Moving down the sidewalk, rubbing his increasingly-numb arms, Bloo could not help but notice just how desolate this place was; the only other sign of life had been the long-gone car with the floppy snow chains. Where was everyone else? __Must be this bad weather, keeping everyone inside, which is where I need to be…_Passing an alleyway set at a right angle to the sidewalk on which he was traveling, Bloo caught a movement out the corner of one eye, and turned to look, hoping it would be someone would could at least direct him to the nearest warm, dry building, preferably one with a wide-screen tv. What he saw was a slightly-built human figure, which appeared to be climbing backwards down from a dumpster.

_"Hey, you!" he called out to the figure. The person landed somewhat awkwardly on the slippery crumbling asphalt in front of the dumpster, clutching something against his, or her, chest. Not getting any response, Bloo started to walk towards the person, waving his hand in the air to attract their attention. "Hey, I need to know where I can…" Bloo's demand was cut short by the individual turning to face him. It was a woman, wearing a tattered, dirty old coat; he could see that now. She was holding what appeared to be several pieces of rotting meat and molding French bread clutched against her, as though she held something precious. It was her face, though, that rendered Bloo speechless. It was gaunt and pale, with deep, dark bags under the hollow eyes, eyes that were filled with such sorrow and fear. A few wisps of red hair straggled out from under a filthy head wrap, blown about by the wind. __If I didn't know better, I would almost swear that looked like Fr….no, it can't be…can it?_

_"Fr…Frankie?" Bloo hesitantly asked of the woman, knowing that this pitiful, starving street person could not POSSIBLY be Frankie, not the Frankie HE knew, anyway._

_Upon hearing that name, the fear in the woman's eyes increased, and she seemed to shake her head, though whether in doubt or denial, Bloo could not tell. Before he had a chance to say anything else, she turned and ran deeper down into the gloom of the alley, quickly disappearing from sight._

_Bloo stood for a moment, staring after her. __No, it couldn't have been Frankie; why would Frankie be eating garbage from a dumpster when she has a nice warm home where she can eat decent food?_ Still, the mystery homeless woman seemed to be the only other living being around besides himself, and Bloo was becoming more and more desperate to find shelter before he ended up freezing. Seeing no other recourse, he decided to follow the homeless woman with the red hair and haunting eyes down the gloomy alleyway. Maybe she at least knew of a homeless shelter or something where he could get warm until Mac came to find him.

_It did not take long, though, for Bloo to realize that this might have been a mistake. Although the wind and the driving snow were not as bad back here in the canyon between buildings, the cold was much worse. Shivering, teeth chattering, Bloo HAD to find somewhere warm, and FAST, or he knew he would not be long for this world, or any other. There was no sign of the homeless woman, so he assumed that she had found some way out of the alleyway and gotten to a warmer spot. Bloo debated whether to continue further down into the darkness of the alley, or to turn back and head in the way he'd just came, back towards the sidewalk and the snowy streets, when something else caught his eye. Not a movement this time, but a color, a splash of red and bright blue that seemed out of place in this gloom. His curiosity momentarily overcoming his instincts for survival, Bloo walked towards the patch of red. As he got closer, and his eyes adjusted more and more to the darkness, he was nearly overcome with relief to see a familiar figure, sitting propped up against the wall of one of the buildings. Apparently, he was not the only Foster's resident who'd ended up on these frozen streets._

_"Wilt! Am I ever glad to see YOU, buddy! What's goin' on, and how did we end up…" As he approached his friend, Bloo began to get an extremely unpleasant feeling that something was very, very wrong here. Wilt had not acknowledged his presence at all, not even to turn and look at him. He had, in fact, not moved a muscle. __Something is definitely not right here…_Bloo could now see that Wilt had something hanging around his neck, and upon closer inspection, saw that it was a sheet of cardboard, with a hand-written sign.

_**Was Thrown Out of Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends**_

_**Will Apologize For Food**_

_"What the HECK are you doin' wearing THAT thing? Whatya mean 'was thrown out of Foster's'? You know they wouldn't throw YOU out! Now come on and quite fooling around; we need to get inside where it's warm and…Wilt, you OK, there, buddy?"_

_Throughout Bloo's whole discourse, Wilt had still not moved an inch, but continued to just sit and stare off into the distance, not bothering to so much as glance at Bloo. This was, of course, worrying Bloo quite a bit, as it was very unlike Wilt to be so disrespectful and ignore someone who was talking to him._

_"Uhm, Wilt? You OK? You seem a little…quiet. I hope you're not still mad about that photograph, are you? I really didn't mean for it to cause so much trouble, seriously. Now, come on and let's try to get inside somewhere, maybe talk it over like friends…I mean, we ARE still friends, right, buddy? Wilt…?"_

_Almost hesitantly, Bloo slowly reached out to prod Wilt's shoulder, hoping maybe that he was just sleeping. __Yeah, that's it…sleeping…with his eyes open._ His hand, though, touched not a warm, vibrant living being, but icy-cold, and ice-hard, frozen, lifeless…

___NO._

___This CANNOT be real! This can't be…HE can't be…_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9-Nightmare Unfolding?

** Author's Note: YESSS! FINALLY...some time to update! Sorry it's taken so long, readers, but if y'all think school is hectic for students, try being a TEACHER! At last, though, I have found a moment to write and upload another chapter, so I haven't abandoned this fic, and I fully intend to finish it...then maybe do a sequel, I don't know right now. I've also considered a Foster's x Monsters, Inc. crossover, which I'm still working out in my red head at the moment. For now, though, I leave you with Chapter Nine, although it is rather short, and it is a bit of a cliff-hanger, sorry(geesh, I'm even starting to sound like Wilt...). Please let me in on any feedback as far as interest in a sequel, and keep the reviews coming. Oh, yeah...I do not own any of the characters in this story. They all belong to Cartoon Network, and were created by Craig McCracken.****  
And, if half of this thing appears in italics, it's fault. My Document Manager is STILL acting up a bit, and converted half of this to italics when I uploaded it. I don't know if it will allow me to save the changes or not.  
**

"Noooooooooooooo!"

Bloo bolted upright with the sound of his own scream still echoing through the room, his breath raspy and ragged. Momentarily confused, his eyes perceiving NOT a cold, ice-bound, deserted city, nor a lifeless and frozen…

Wait…a DREAM? It was all a DREAM?

He sat very, very still on the edge of the sofa, the events of the dream, and of the past 48 hours, playing back slowly through his mind, staring at the tv set. Onscreen, two human guys were strapping what appeared to be a very battered crash-test dummy into what appeared to be an enormous catapult. "_Now, let's see how well ole' Buster is gonna fare after we launch him over this 50-foot high brick wall…and just to see how a real human would be feeling after this little journey, we've placed this large plastic bag of theatrical blood inside of Buster's cranium…" _Bloo blinked and rubbed his eyes. So he HAD fallen asleep, and there was no frozen city, and Wilt could NOT, therefore, be…or…OR…could this be a premonition of things to come? Bloo's heart rate had begun to level out a bit upon his realization that he'd fallen asleep and had a bad dream, but now it suddenly picked back up once again.

_The photograph! _He HAD to find that photograph, before it was too late! "I GOTTA find that photograph! Now, where did I last see it…I think Sandy had it…or, no…wait…maybe it was Tubey…I just know I have to find it, before Mr. Herriman or Madame Foster sees it! Now, how hard can it be to find one single Polaroid picture in a house of oh, say, _THREE HUNDRED ZILLION Rooms?"_ Part of Bloo seriously wanted to sit back down on the sofa and continue watching the latest exploits of the always ill-fated "Buster", but that nagging little voice in the back of his mind(the one that always sounded suspiciously like his creator), refused to shut up and get a grip this time. Bloo despised that little voice. It always tried to get in the way of his major goal in life, which was to have as good a time as possible, and make himself the absolute center of attention. Still, he knew that this time, he'd better listen to it, or there could be dire consequences for someone he liked to think of as one of his best friends…make that TWO someones. Like it or not, he had no choice this time but to heed that annoying little voice, and with what he hoped was a determined scowl on his face, the little blue Imaginary Friend set off from the tv room to search for the incriminating photograph, and to try to undo a wrong that HE, as bad as he hated to admit it, had done before it was too late.

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As his own search for the photograph continued to produce no results, nor even to get him any closer, it seemed, to finding it, Wilt's panic began to grow, along with his anger and hurt. _WHY_ would anyone want to do something like this to him, or to Frankie, who certainly in his mind, anyway)deserved this even less than he did. He just _knew_ that if that picture wound up in certain hands, his days, or even hours, at Foster's were numbered. The thought of having to leave his friends behind, the thought of having to go live…_out there…_was nearly too much to cope with, and made it difficult to concentrate on his objective. So far, every possible lead in the search had proved fruitless, and each time that Wilt had gleaned some information that he thought would lead him closer, it only had appeared to lead to a proverbial dead end. He wondered, and hoped, that the other innocent victim of this evil plot was having better luck than he was. The tall Friend had just started down the third-floor hallway, for what seemed to him the tenth time, at least, pondering the how's, why's, and WHO of this predicament, when…

"Master Wilt! There you are, though I must say you've proved a rather elusive quarry thus far" a stern British-accented voice commanded Wilt's attention, snapping him out of his thoughts. Wilt spun around to see one of the home's inhabitants he most did NOT wish to encounter at this time, Mr. Herriman, standing at the top of the stair landing. He felt the muscles in his chest tighten involuntarily as he tried to force a smile.

"Oh, uhm…Mr. Herriman! How's it goin'? Uhm…"

"I've been asked to locate you", Herriman continued in what seemed to be an even more business-like tone than usual. "Madame Foster has requested your presence in her living quarters immediately! I am told that she has a rather _urgent_ matter that she needs to discuss with you!"

Wilt tried to respond, but his throat had nearly seized up, making even the act of breathing difficult. There was no doubt in his mind as to just what this "urgent matter" was. His worst nightmare was unfolding; Madame Foster had seen that photograph of HIM, asleep under the covers on the sofa…_with HER granddaughter._

Herriman regarded the tall red Friend for a moment, adjusting his monocle as he did so, then cleared his throat as Wilt just stood there, as if in shock. "Oh, excuse ME, but apparently I've taken to MUMBLING incoherently," the oversized rabbit responded, sarcastically, "so perhaps I shall find it necessary to reiterate my original statement, and the purpose for my quest, which was to locate YOU, Master Wilt, and inform YOU that Madame Foster insists upon YOUR immediate presence in her living chambers! That is 'immediate' as in NOW!"

"Oh, uhh…right, Mr. Herriman, sorry for zoning out…I, uh…I'll(_gulp)_ get down there right away, sir" Wilt was barely able to rasp his reply. Taking a deep breath, or as deep as his tense chest muscles and constricted throat would permit, he headed for the stairs, and started downward to meet what he was certain would be his fate.

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"GottafinditGottafinditGottafinditGottafindit…" muttered Bloo as he searched, with ever-increasing desperation, for the photo that HE had taken, that very morning, as an act of what now seemed such petty vengeance upon Wilt and Frankie. His search, thus far, had been as fruitless as Wilt's had been, with the real irony being that while they were both seeking the same Holy Grail of Polaroid snapshots, neither was aware of the other's quest, nor was one even remotely aware that the other was the cause of all this consternation. Bloo paused just before passing the open double doors which led to Madame Foster's private living room, pounding what amounted to his forehead with what amounted to his fist. "Think..think…THINK!" he commanded himself out loud. "I mean, a photograph just CANNOT get up and walk away! It HAS to be around here _SOMEWHERE…_now WHERE would_ I _go if _I_ were a photograph which showed what may or may NOT be evidence sufficient to…"; as Bloo passed by the open double doors, it was as if his eyes were drawn like a nail to a magnet to the little table against the wall, just a few feet inside the door, right underneath some old faded oil painting of some chick in a long dress. There, sitting out in plain view on the table, beckoning to him like a Siren song, was the object he so urgently sought…the Polaroid photograph of Wilt and Frankie, snuggled up warm and cozy under Madame Foster's own heirloom Afghan, on the sofa, in the TV room.

"THERE you are! Oooohhh, you have no idea how hard I've been looking for you!" exclaimed Bloo as he started inside to retrieve the snapshot. Who would ever have thought that a little piece of stiff paper could cause so much aggravation? Bloo did not get very far, though, before two things happened, nearly simultaneously, which threw him off course, so to speak. First, he was nearly stepped on by Wilt, whom he had totally failed to hear approaching, and who seemed to be in a daze, completely(which was _very_ odd for Wilt)failing to acknowledge Bloo's presence. Second, Madame Foster herself appeared in the doorway of her living room, blocking Bloo's entrance.

"Oh, hello, Bloo!" said the little old woman, pushing her glasses up a bit further on her nose as she did so.

"Madame Foster! Oh, hi...", Bloo responded, trying to sidle around her to get to the table with the photo, as Wilt came to a stop just inside the door, behind the home's owner.

"Yes, yes, dear", spoke the little woman, "now run along, Wilt and I have some very important business to attend to." She made a little waving motion with the back of her hand, to indicate to Bloo that he needed to get out of the doorway.

"But, Madame Foster…I have…I _REALLY _need to…"

"Yes, yes, I know that I'm a popular gal, but this is very important, Bloo dear, so whatever it is shall have to wait until I've finished this business with Wilt here, so move along, now, toodle-loo!"

And with Bloo's protests still being aired, the old woman closed both large double doors in his face. Bloo heard the lock "_click"_ just after his field of vision was obscured by the antique stained wooden finish.

His face fell. He took a deep breath, and let it out with a melancholy sigh, his head shaking ever so slightly. _HOW could this be happening? HOW could he have LET something like happen?_

Hearing panting and heavy footsteps behind him, Bloo turned to see his creator, Mac, charging down the hallway towards him, nearly out of breath. 

"Bloo! Did you find that picture yet? I've been looking all over for it, along with Eduardo and Coco, and we didn't have any luck. How about you?"

Bloo took a deep breath, and averted his eyes from Mac's to gaze thoughtfully at the wall, as if expecting a really clever response to Mac's question to magically appear there. His voice quavering a bit, he answered.

"Weeeellllll…I sortakinda found it…" Bloo turned his eyes from the wall, which had not helped him one iota, to the floor, then briefly glanced up at Mac's face. Mac did not like the expression he saw on his creation's face at all. He raised his eyebrows.

"Whataya mean, you 'sortakinda found it'? You either found it or you didn't! Which is it?"

Bloo turned his attention back to the floor, as if to suggest that the carpet was seventeen times more interesting, and easy, to look upon at this point than Mac was. He sighed again, in what he hoped was a convincingly heartbroken manner, then sprang forth with his verdict.

"Wellll…MadameFosterhasthepictureinherlivingroomandIwasabouttogoinsideandgetitwhen

WiltwalkedinandMadameFostershowedupatthedoorandsaidshehadsomeveryimportantbusinesstodiscusswithWiltandItriedtotellherIneededtocomeinbutshepushedmeoutandshutthedoorsinmyface

Andlockedthem. And thatswhathappened. Really."

"Excuse me?"

Bloo straightened himself and aimed another stare at the wall, having found the floor unresponsive. Annoyance began to creep back into his voice. "I SAID…", he began again, speaking very slowly and deliberately, lest Mac miss anything this time around, "Madame Fos-TER has the PIC-Ture in her liv-ing room AND I was ABOUT to go IN-side and GET IT, when Wilt walked IN…and Madame FOS-ter showed up at the DOOR and said she had some very IMPORT-ANT BUSI-NESS to dis-cuss with WILT and I TRIED to TELL her that I need-ed to come IN but she PUSHED me OUT and SHUT the doors IN MY FACE and LOCKED themmmm."

Mac's expression turned from one of impatience to one of horror. "So, you mean Madame Foster has the photograph? Of Wilt and Frankie? In THERE? Like, NOW? AND she called Wilt in there to 'discuss important business'"?

Bloo nodded sadly, still refusing to look the eight-year-old in the eyes. "I'm afraid so." His bottom lip began to tremble, and now the ceiling became the object of his visual speculation. He sighed again, as Mac just stared at the locked doors to Madame Foster's chambers, shaking his head in disbelief. Bloo spoke in a small, trembly voice, "All I ever wanted was to be rich, and have everyone love and admire me. Isthat so wrong?"

"This is terrible! This is just…TERRIBLE!" was Mac's response.


	10. Chapter 10

Ch. 10-The Meeting

**Well, I've more or less reached the end of this story, folks. This is the second-to-the-last chapter, and hopefully will resolves some things-not EVERYTHING, just some. I've tried to keep everyone as much in-character as possible. One more time; I do not own any of the characters on "Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends"-didn't even have time to adopt one from the website, just this fic. They all belong to Cartoon Network. Hope everyone has enjoyed my first-ever Foster's fanfic(try saying THAT really fast, at least twenty times)!**

As the diminutive old lady closed the heavy double doors behind her, leaving just herself and him in the room, Wilt felt as though all the oxygen were being withdrawn from the room. His knees felt as though they were going to give way at any second as he awaited the official accusations and the verdict, a verdict HE knew would surely be expulsion. For all the years he'd lived at Foster's, he'd harbored this secret fear that some infraction would result in him being once more cast out on the streets, to survive by any means necessary. It had been difficult enough, when his creator's family had abandoned him, but that had all been…_before IT_ happened. Now, he knew his chances of survival would be even…

"Now, Wilt," Madame Foster interrupted his train of thought, "a matter has come to my attention, one of utmost importance, that I think YOU should be aware of! I called you in here to…"

Now, it was Wilt's turn to interrupt, though he normally would NEVER have done anything so rude. This was NOT a "normal" situation, though, and in his panic, he spoke before considering such formalities as manners. His own voice sounded like that of a stranger to his ears, it was so raspy from his tightened throat and dry mouth.

"But Madame Foster, I really, really, REALLY am sorry! I mean, I've never been more sorry for anything in my whole LIFE! We weren't…I mean, I didn't…it was just…I mean we were…I am _sooooooo_ SORRY! _PLEEEAASSE _don't throw me out! I'll do anything, just don't…

Madame Foster scowled at the tall red Imaginary Friend, then raised an eyebrow at him in confusion before speaking.

"Throw you OUT? Now Heavens above, WHY would I want to do that?"

Wilt blinked his one good eye, and swallowed hard. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. Was the old woman playing some sort of cruel game with him, or what? Surely she knew-why else would she have called him into her living quarters for such an important and private meeting? He decided to continue with his original course of action, which, naturally, involved apologizing.

"I'm sorry, I am really sorry, I know what it must _look_ like, but honestly Frankie and I were just…"

"Frankie? What's my granddaughter got to do with this? _YOU'RE_ the one responsible for taking care of my baby, you know!"

"Uh, your 'baby'? I know she's your granddaughter and all, but…"

"Granddaughter? I STILL don't understand what Frankie has to do with this; it's not HER job to look after the upkeep of my baby-it's YOURS! And it has come to my attention that you might not have been keeping up with your duties like you're supposed to! Am I making myself clear?"

_Not really,_ thought Wilt, at least eight different expressions of confusion and bewilderment jockeying for position on his face at once.

"Uhm…I'm sorry, but I'm not really following you, Madame Foster. Your 'baby'?…"

"My CAR, Wilt, my CAR! THAT'S my BABY! I thought you knew that! And YOU were given the responsibility of making sure that she stays as clean and shiny as the day I drove her off the lot, were you not?" queried his landlady, tapping his knee with her cane for emphasis. She then continued before Wilt could get either his brain or his mouth back online. "Just this past Wednesday, which as you know is bowling night, I was stepping out of my baby in the parking lot of the bowling ally, and that smart-alecky Jherkins comes sashayin' up to me and says, 'Startin' to neglect your ride, huh, Foster? Must be goin' downhill upstairs, when you start letting that precious Firebird of yours go to pot!' That old so-and-so pointed to my back fender, and lo and BEHOLD! There was a DIRTY SPOT, right there on my rear! Right out there in the parking lot for all the world to see!" Madame Foster paused to wipe a handkerchief across her brow, her eyes closed briefly with the horrible memory, then aimed another stern look at Wilt. "Talk about humiliating! Why, I've never been more embarrassed in my whole life! How'd YOU like to show up for bowling with a big ole' patch of dirt on YOUR rear, hmmm?"

Wilt just stood there in front of his host, blinking, his jaw working up and down as his brain tried to sort out everything Madame Foster was saying, along with the events of the past twenty-four hours. He felt as though this were some sort of waking dream, and he did not know whether he should feel relieved, or what.

"Well? WOULD you?" prompted the old lady.

Wilt shook his head slightly, like someone just waking up to find themselves in a different place from the one in which they'd fallen asleep, with no way to account for the change in locale. "Oh, I uhm…NO, Madame Foster, I wouldn't like that at all!" Relief began to flood his being, grappling with the huge volumes of adrenaline that the prior stress had induced. His legs suddenly seemed to have turned to rubber, and sitting down began to seem like a really good idea. Wilt braced his one hand against the back of a tall ornate chair, right next to a small table against the wall. "I really need to sit down, if that's OK!" he declared breathlessly, his long legs folding up as he plopped down into the chair, without awaiting Madame Foster's permission as to whether or not was OK to do so.

"Sure dear, make yourself comfortable; just be sure that…"

Once more, Wilt felt compelled to go against his usual politeness and interrupt, since there were just too many thoughts circulating in his head to wait.

"Now..now…let me get this straight, OK? YOU called me in HERE, to tell me I'd left a dirty spot on your Firebird last week, did I get that right?"

"Why yes, indeed I did. Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no 'MAM, there's no problem-no problem whatsoever!" Could it be that he was really off the hook, that his hostess had NOT, in fact, seen the incriminating photograph, wherever it was? The sense of relief that Wilt was experiencing by this point was almost overwhelming. "I'll make sure that your car is totally clean, inside and out, I swear! And I'm AWFULLY sorry about any embarrassment it might have caused you, Madame Foster, it won't happen again, I SWEAR! As a matter of fact, I'll get right to…"

Now, it was Wilt's turn to be interrupted; as he stood up to leave, while still talking, the old woman reached out to pick up something from the table beside the chair he'd been sitting in. "Hmmm…now what's THIS?", she inquired, holding up the object in front of her glasses for closer inspection.

Even though the back of the photo in the woman's hand was turned towards Wilt, he _KNEW _it had to be _THAT_ photo, and realized that either Madame Foster had been playing some sort of cruel game with him all along, or more likely, that this was the first time she'd seen the photo. All of his hopes of being able to get out of this mess were dashed to smitherines as the full reality hit once more: Madame Foster, the owner of this home, and grandmother of the young woman in the photo, actually had the photograph _in her hand. _There could absolutely be no denial of its existence now, nor any that Wilt was going to rejoin the ranks of the homeless by sundown. A tiny little voice inside his head tried to get him to at least say _something_ in his defense, but his logic told the little voice to shut up. This was it. Holding his breath and biting his trembling lip, Wilt silently waited for the reaction that he knew was inevitable. He'd been so close to getting out of this.

"Aawwww, now isn't that just the _sweetest_ thing! You two really look cute together!"

The little voice lurking in the back of Wilt's mind suddenly saw its chance, and rushed forward to take control of the situation. "OH…uh, heh-heh; that's NOT what it looks like, Madame Foster, really! We just…we just…I mean…I KNOW what it looks like, but…"

"Looks to me like _somebody_ stayed up too late and fell asleep while watching tv, THAT'S what it looks like to me" Madame Foster stated with a "that's THAT" tone.

Wilt just stared in disbelief for several seconds; this was all becoming nearly too surreal to comprehend. First, he thought he was going to be expelled for apparently getting caught in a compromising situation with his hostess's granddaughter, THEN he found out that his hostess was only wanting to remind him to do a better job of washing her _car_, leading him to believe he was off the hook, for the time being, anyway. THEN, she finds the picture with the alleged compromising situation, and, AND…thinks it's "the sweetest thing"? PLUS, she understands EXACTLY what the picture actually did show-two people who innocently fell asleep, snuggled up on a sofa, while watching television.

"YEAH! That's what happened, for real!" Wilt exclaimed with a rush, sensing that maybe there was hope after all, after so many let-downs. "But, how'd you know that we fell asleep while watching tv? I mean, whoever took that picture apparently wanted you to think something else."

Madame Foster laughed in merry amusement, then answered in a conspiratorial tone, "Why, back in my day, ole' Funny Bunny and I used to fall asleep all the time like that while listening to radio serials-you wouldn't know about those, I guess. We didn't have television back in those days, but we did have weekly programs that came on the radio at night, that we'd listen to. Our favorite was called '_The Shadow'_-full of adventure and cliff-hangers, it was. My father forbid anyone staying up past a certain hour, but Herriman and I would sneak off into the living room to listen to the radio after everyone else had gone to bed. Once, we fell asleep while trying to stay up and hear the conclusion, on this very sofa, as a matter of fact! Oh, I thought my father was gonna skin us both alive!" She looked at the photo of Wilt and Frankie, smiling. "Oh, this brings back fond memories, it does!"

Wilt did not quite know how to respond. This clearly was NOT what he'd expected, though he honestly couldn't say he was _disappointed_ in Madame Foster's reaction-just very, very surprised.

"You mean you're not upset? Not even a _little?"_

"Why, goodness me, no! Why would I be upset? Like I said, this sort of thing happens."

Wilt let out another sigh of relief, wiping his terry cloth wrist band across what sort of amounted to his brow(if his eyes hadn't been ABOVE it). Shaking his head and chuckling with the craziness of the whole thing, he said, "Madame Foster, you don't know HOW relieved I am to hear you say that! All this time, since I found out that someone had snuck in and took a picture of me and Frankie after we fell asleep on the couch, I've been worried half to _death_ that you'd find the picture and assume the worst, and I'd get kicked out!"

"Worst? What do you mean by 'worst'?"

"Well, you know…that me and Frankie had, you know…that we'd…I mean, I'd NEVER do anything like that!"

The old woman frowned, raising her eyebrow once more at the tall Imaginary Friend.

"NEVER? Well, why NOT?"

This last one caught Wilt TOTALLY by surprise, in a way that no statement had ever quite caught him by surprise before. It took him several seconds, or so it seemed, to prepare a response.

"Uh, sorry…could you run that last part by me again?"

Madame Foster continued to frown at him, giving him a look that people normally reserve for addressing those that they consider dimwitted. "I said, 'why NOT'! My granddaughter is an attractive young woman, is she not?"

Wilt replied slowly and cautiously, wondering if he was saying the right thing, or something that would get him in hot water for real, this time, "Yeeessssss…she is, BUT…."

Madame Foster dismissed his reply with a wave of her tiny hand, "Oh, psshaw, I wasn't suggesting that you two go ahead and walk down the aisle together tomorrow, only that if you DID take a fancy to my dear Frankie, it wouldn't bother me in the least!"

For some unaccountable reason, this made Wilt's heart nearly leap out of his chest, and not from fear this time. He felt as if an immense weight, one which had been there for so long he'd gotten used to it, was suddenly lifted from his shoulders, even though a certain amount of incredulity remained. "Let me get this straight, OK? First, you're NOT upset that you saw this picture of Frankie and myself asleep on the sofa, right? AND, you don't mind if I did…I mean, WE did, no-that didn't come out right-whatImtryingtosayis…" Wilt closed both eyes and shook his head slightly, as if to force his brain to come up with something that made sense AND wouldn't get him into trouble.

"Goodness me, I've already told you I wasn't upset" laughed the old lady, "I can't see why that's so hard for you to understand!" Still laughing, she shook her own head, muttering, "_Men…_I don't know what it is about 'em understanding the simplest things!" She sighed, "Look, Wilt, I know I'm old and you younger folks think I don't know what's going on in the world today, but I keep up with things more than you think! I know there are a lot of bad people out there, waiting to take advantage of a nice young lady like my granddaughter, and that it's tough for a young gal to find the right guy nowadays. Shoot, it was tough enough back in MY day, but I never had to worry about a lot of the things that young women now have to worry about when they're trying to find Mr. Right. Quite honestly, I'd trust you far more than I'd trust a lot of these...these, fellas out there now. At least I know YOU'D never do anything to hurt my granddaughter, or bring her shame."

Wilt could not help grinning, in spite of his continued state of confusion, but something still kept nagging at him. "But what about the rule?" he finally thought to ask; THAT was the thing that was still bothering him.

"Rule? What rule is that, dear?"

"You know, the one that says that Imaginary Friends can't have, uhm, close sorts of relationships with any of the human staff. And since Frankie IS our only human staff…besides you of course, I just thought…"

His hostess rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm…I don't think I've heard of THAT one. Must be one of those rumors that gets around, and before you know it, everyone's heard it so much that they assume it's true. Seriously, though, I don't think that there is any such rule, and _I'M_ the one who makes up all the rules around here, so what _I _say goes!"

It was all Wilt could do to keep from leaping with joy at that moment; and to think, just a few minutes ago, he was certain that he was going to be tossed out on the streets, and now, well, everything had a way of working itself out, didn't it? Madame Foster regained her business-like composure and spoke up, "Now, what was it that we were talking about before I found this photo…OH, yes, my BABY! Now, I've got canasta tomorrow evening over at the Senior Center, and that Jherkins and her crowd is gonna be there, and I simply CAN NOT have a repeat of last Wednesday night's debacle! I want that car washed, waxed, buffed, vacuumed, detailed, the whole kit 'n kaboodle! And there'd better not be ONE speck of dirt on her anywhere, got it?"

"Oh, yeah, I GOT it, Madame Foster! When I get through with that baby, she'll be so shiny, people'll havta wear shades at night when you drive by 'em! She's gonna have so much bling-bling that ole' Jherkins'll think she's on the strip in Vegas when she walks out into that parkin' lot! Matter of fact, I think I'm gonna go get started on her right away!"

Wilt turned on his heels to leave, his grin once more spreading from one side of his face literally to the other, a spring in his step that he hadn't had since that morning, when Madame Foster cleared her throat to get his attention. As he turned back towards her, she reached up to hand him the photo.

"Here, you might want to keep this. If it gets seen by the wrong set of eyes, it might stir all sorts of trouble. You know how people do love to talk and get all into everyone else's business! Besides, you never know…it might be good for some fond memories one of these days!" she said, winking up at him as he took the photo from her hand.

"Sure thing, Madame Foster! And, if nobody has ever told you before, you're the GREATEST hostess an Imaginary Friend could EVER have!"

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Meanwhile, outside of the locked double doors to Madame Foster's chambers, a very despondent-looking pair sat on the floor, backs to the wall, awaiting the worst of news. "You're gonna haveta tell him, you know. It's only fair, Bloo, that Wilt knows who caused all this."

"I guess you're right", sighed Bloo, still gazing down at the floor. "Just don't tell me I have to _apologize_ for it, too!"

Before Mac could respond, they both heard the sound of a lock clicking open, and one of the two heavy wooden doors swung open with a slight creak, revealing the tall, lanky form of Wilt.

"Wilt! You're out already! How'd it go? Eduardo told me about the photograph-you aren't gonna get thrown out, are you?" asked the worried eight-year-old.

"Mac! Bloo! Good to see you, how's it goin'? Wilt replied, a huge grin on his face, as he approached the two with even more spring in his step than usual.

"But", began Mac, "I thought Madame Foster just called you in there to chew you out about that photograph, you know, the one with you and Frankie?"

"Oh, you mean this one?" Wilt answered with a question, holding up the Polaroid in his hand. "Naawwww, everything's cool with this! She just wanted to remind me to take a little more care when washing her car, that's all. No big deal. Look, guys, I'd love to hang out with y'all and everything, but I just promised Madame Foster I'd get started on her car right away-big canasta game tomorrow night, and that Jherkins is gonna be there. You know-the one from the bowlin' alley? Gotta make sure that Madame Foster's ride is totally off-the-chain, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Uh, yeah…sure, I know what you mean…I think" Mac said, confusion and relief simultaneously settling in on his face as he watched Wilt head down the hallway, whistling happily to himself.

"Wellll…now THAT all worked itself out, didn't it? I TOLD you that there'd be nothin' to worry about, and I was _right,_ now wasn't I? Bloo smirked, sauntering over to his creator, his short little arms folded behind his back in an infuriatingly smug manner.

"So, I guess this means you aren't going to tell him, are you?"

"Tell him what? Oh, THAT. No, I don't see any useful purpose in telling Wilt. You saw how happy he was. Far be from ME to burst his bubble! Everything worked itself out for the best, just like I SAID it would all along!" Bloo turned to walk away from the boy, hands still folded smugly behind his back, then added, "Besides, you know what they say, 'what you don't know can't hurt you'!"

Mac just shook his head, and turned to follow him.


	11. Chapter 11

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Chapter 11-Epilog

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That Following Friday Night…

Frankie entered the TV Room, carrying two large cups of steaming hot chocolate, one in each hand. As she walked over to the sofa, she could see that her companion for the night's tv viewing was already there, along with a very large bowl of freshly-popped and buttered popcorn.

She handed off one of the mugs of hot chocolate to her companion as she turned to have a seat on the sofa.

"Thanks, Frankie!" Wilt replied as he took the mug from her, pushing the bowl of popcorn over on the sofa with his elbow as he did so, in order that she'd be able to reach it, too.

"So, what are we watching tonight?" asked the red-head, sitting down on the sofa beside him, the placing her mug of hot chocolate on the end table, and reaching for the popcorn.

"I'm not real sure; there was a commercial still on when I got in here, and I haven't heard 'em say just yet what the movie for tonight is."

Wilt took a long sip from the mug he was holding, then turned to the young woman seated beside him on the sofa. "Hey, Frankie,", he began, "did anybody ever tell you that you have the coolest grandmother in the whole world? I mean, really, she is."

Frankie tried her best to smile around a mouthful of popcorn. "Yeah, you won't get any argument from me on THAT one!"

She leaned back against the sofa cushions as the movie's theme music and opening sequence started up, another thriller, "The Missouri Hedge-Trimmer Massacre Part III". Frankie raised an eyebrow at the screen, leaning forward from her seat on the sofa. "Hey, I think I know this one…yeah, I remember now; I saw this one back when I was in college. They showed it over at that theater just a few blocks down from my dorm."

"So, you've seen it already?" Wilt said, in a somewhat disappointed manner, while wiping a chocolate mustache from his mouth with the back of his forearm. "I mean, we can watch something else, if you've already seen this one-doesn't matter much to me."

"No, no, no-this movie is WAY cool! I remember it now; it's the one where this gardener goes like all crazy and stuff, and starts killing people with this hedge-trimmer-that's why it's called 'The Missouri Hedge-Trimmer Massacre'-only he's like, you know, DEAD, himself, so that nobody can kill him, 'cuzz you can't like kill somebody who's already dead and stuff…oh, wait, this part right here? This part is SO awesome, I mean this is the part where the guy who's trying to hire someone to take care of the grounds of his mansion finds the guy who…"

Frankie's spoiler was, unfortunately, cut short by a rather large, but very soft and fluffy, throw pillow being swung towards her face. Giggling like a teenager as she flung up an arm to deflect it, she couldn't help but thinking, "_Here we go again…"_

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Finis

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Well, what did y'all think? Sequel? No sequel? Let me know, one way or the other, if you please! I have to say I have enjoyed writing this fic more than anything I've written in the past, that's for sure. Thanks again to all who have reviewed, and to the folks who created this wonderfully fun animated series.

Pitbulllady, 09/19/05


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